Sins of the Mother
by LittleBird317
Summary: Fourteen years into her life sentence Underground, Calliope has fallen in love. But just as everything feels like it's falling into place, she inadvertently catches the eye of Goblin King, who still feels the sting of her mother's rejection over 30 years later. Fem Slash. OC. Evil Jareth. Dark Fic.
1. Jar of Fireflies

**A/N: The first chapter has been revised a little bit. The original seemed a little too rushed.**

 **Jar of Fireflies**

Calliope lived a life divided into three equal parts, and the first part felt so hazy and far away, she almost wondered if it had even happened at all. She remembered having a family and a home. She remembered going to school in the fall and winter and catching fireflies in the summer. She remembered having friends, though she could hardly remember their faces, and she remembered having a mother. Her mother's was the only face that stood out in her memory, the only one that hadn't smudged away like ink in an old photo. She had dark hair that she grew out long, green eyes, a winter complexion. Callie could remember her scooping her up in her arms, and kissing her face, laughing. Callie could remember the stories she used to tell, the meals she used to cook. If there was one thing that the depths of her soul longed for the most from her seven years Aboveground, it was her mother.

But her life felt like it began Underground. The first seven years were the most painful, and the pain always felt more real to her than the happiness that proceeded it. She didn't remember how she got there or why. She just knew in an instant she was on the dirty floor of the throne room in a drafty, stone castle. She was surrounded on all sides by grotesque beings, before a towering man she knew to be the King. Though she was still a child and he a complete stranger to her, the contempt he held for her was almost palpable.

"Calliope," his voice came low and stern like a judge, "For the sins of your mother, the Champion of the Labyrinth, you are condemned to spend the rest of her days in servitude within the walls of this castle. You will serve me with your labors, you will go only where I allow you, and you will never leave these castle grounds."

Callie remembered being unable to speak as she looked up at him, tears on her face, wondering how she got there. She got up and tried to flee, but the monsters surrounded her in every direction, their faces warped and distorted, their teeth sharp, their claws even sharper. She recoiled at the sight of them, stumbling back into the King's leather-booted calves. He promptly snatched her up by her hair, dragging her away from the throne room.

He drug her down the corridor as she stumbled to keep up and ease the tension on her scalp. When he reached their destination, he opened the door and shoved her into the room. She could hear the whirling and clicking of machines and she looked up to see a a terrifying, spider-like man with two faces and four spindly arms.

Callie shrieked and fell back, cowering by the King's feet.

"You needed an assistant?" The King said, addressing the spider monster.

"Well, yes," he replied, "But she's just a child! What am I supposed to do with her?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something," the King said, giving her a sharp kick. "She's got those tiny fingers. Make her reach into the gears and clean out the lint. Make her sweep the floors. I don't care what you do with her. Just keep her out of my way."

And with that, he left her at the spider's mercy.

As luck would have it, the spider possessed far more mercy than the King had shown her thus far. He was the King's clothier, and his name was Arachnus. Though she found his appearance frightening, his extra eyes and limbs allowed him to operate a worn-down treadle sewing machine while simultaneously hand-stitching buttons and hemlines into the king's jackets. He put her to work as his assistant, giving her small tasks that suited her abilities. At first Callie's daily tasks only included opening buttonholes, snipping stray threads, and pressing seams open. She would do this from first light until noon, when Arachnus would stop to make tea and share his lunch of fruit and cured meats. Then they would continue to work until dark, at which point Arachnus would retire to his cottage for the night and Callie would fall asleep upon a pile of fabric scraps in the corner of the atelier. She was not given a room; human slaves didn't get rooms to themselves. She was given only a few simple dresses, a chamber pot, and a large basin and bar of soap to wash with.

During the first seven years, she hardly ever saw the King, except in passing, and even that was enough to make her wish to avoid him altogether. She would sometimes see him as she was carrying heavy baskets of clothing down to the laundry to be washed, and he would smirk at her disheveled appearance and gaunt face. Sometimes he would purposefully kick her or shove her out of his way when he was feeling particularly cruel. He didn't seem to care that it was _his_ clothes that ended up littering the floor; he only took satisfaction in her misery as she was forced to stop and pick them up.

The first seven years were the loneliest, with only her employer for company, but she took the opportunity to learn as much as she could. Arachnus eventually gave her more responsibilities, teaching her more about sewing and garment construction. She learned tailoring techniques and how to take measurements and perform various alterations. He even began to teach her the basics of pattern drafting and cutting. Though he generally preferred to work in solitude, Arachnus knew he was getting old and had to pass his craft on to someone else soon, and Callie was such a quick study and eager learner that he found her quite a pleasure to teach. By the time the first seven years were up, Callie was working independently alongside him, sharing the heavy burden of perpetually maintaining and updating the King's wardrobe.

As the saying goes: when you hit rock bottom, the only place left to go is up, and so it was that Calliope's next seven years in the Underground were an improvement upon the first. Arachnus had talked the King into giving her a room of her own, and as small and modest as it was, she finally had a real bed and running water. She was allowed more freedom to walk the castle grounds, and with the two of them working together, they could often finish their day's work early enough to allow for leisurely walks through the gardens. Even the King seemed to hold her in higher regard, simply ignoring her when he passed her in the halls instead of stopping to torment her for whatever past crimes her mother had committed against him. Above all, what truly made those seven years better than the last was meeting Artemisia.

During her seven years of solitude, Callie thought she would never know human warmth ever again. After all, she lived in a castle where the closest thing she ever saw to another human being was a king who openly despised her. When she met Artemisia, it was on a day she had finished her work early and the castle grounds were completely desolate. It was warm outside and the flowers in the gardens were in full bloom. Callie couldn't help but take advantage of her solitude to go for a swim in the garden's lily pond. She stripped down to her shift and stepped down into the water, gliding out into the tangle of lily pads. For a moment she just closed her eyes and tilted her head back, floating among the flowers on her back, feeling the sun on her face. She listened to the music of frogs and birds, as weeds and large fish brushed against her legs. But then she heard a voice call out, jolting her out of her reverie.

"You know, you really shouldn't leave you clothes unattended. Someone might steal them."

Callie jerked herself up, looking back across the pond toward the origin of the voice. There she saw a woman standing with her arms crossed, holding her clothes in one of her fists. The king occasionally had women as guests in his castle. They were always beautiful in an eerily, otherworldly kind of way, statuesque, and dressed in long elaborate gowns. Callie assumed that they must have been royalty or dignitaries from other kingdoms, but never really knew for sure. This particular woman was very different. She was also tall and attractive, but her jet hair was pulled into a simple knot at the back of her head. She wore an armored breastplate, trousers, and boots with a sheathed sword hanging off her belt. She exuded an air of confidence and swagger rather than one of simpering elegance like the other women. For a moment Callie just stared at her, unsure of what to make of her or how to even respond.

"I…I'm so sorry," Callie finally stammered out, assuming she must have been caught by one of the king's relatives or acquaintances. "It was hot out. I just wanted to go for a swim. I didn't think anyone else was out here."

The woman chuckled. "I didn't mean to startle you," she said, "I was just going for a walk through the gardens and was surprised to see the King keeps a nymph in his lily pond." She looked at Callie in a way she had never been looked at before, which only made her shyness intensify all the more.

"No, it's ok," Callie replied bashfully, "I just thought I was alone out here, that's all."

"Well, you should come and get dressed before anyone else discovers you," the woman told her. She examined the clothes in her hand, pulling Callie's corset away from the inside of her dress, causing a blush to creep across Callie's face. "How were you planning to dress yourself in this contraption anyway?" the woman inquired.

"I'm used to lacing it on my own," Callie explained, swimming toward her. When she reached the steps at the water's edge, the woman reached down to help her. Callie hesitated, but took her hand, lifting herself out of the water. As she emerged fully from the water, the woman looked down at her body with that same intense gaze as before. Callie gasped when she realized that her white shift had become completely transparent from the water, and she wrapped her arms around herself for covering.

The woman laughed and removed her cloak from her shoulders. "Here," she said, wrapping it around Callie's shoulders. "Let's go behind that hedge so you can dress in privacy."

The woman helped her into her clothes, lacing her corset and buttoning the back of her dress as they ducked behind the hedge. "I'm Artemisia, Captain of the King's Guard," the woman told her, finally introducing herself. Callie was a bit taken aback. She hadn't realized that there was a King's Guard, nor was she aware that the King would appoint a woman as its captain.

"It's nice to meet you," Callie replied. "I'm Calliope, assistant to the king's tailor."

Artemisia sucked a breath in through her teeth. "Ooh… I'm sure that's a tough job. Our King sure is a flashy dresser."

"Well, that's the one thing I can appreciate about our King," Callie said grinning at her, "He's a dandy, so I get to make pretty things for him. I enjoy making pretty things."

Artemisia threw her head back and laughed as they began to make their way back to the castle. As awkward as their introduction had been, Callie felt for the first time in a long time a sense of connection that had been long lost to her.

Over the next couple days, Callie's thoughts were consumed by Artemisia, and she would try to get her work done as quickly as possible so she could walk the gardens in hopes of running into her again. But by the third day of not seeing her, Callie began to lose hope that anything would come of their chance encounter at the lily pond. It wasn't until the fourth day, while Callie was deep into her work at the sewing machine, that she heard a knock at the door of the atelier. She looked up to see Artemisia standing at the threshold, smiling down at her. Her heart began beating so hard she worried that she would hear it.

"Can I help you?" Arachnus asked gruffly.

Artemisia held up a glove in her naked hand. "I split the seam," she explained. "I was told I could bring it here to have it repaired."

"Told by whom?" Arachnus inquired. He was working on a pattern draft at the cutting table and despised interruptions of any kind.

"The King," Artemisia answered.

Arachnus scowled. "Does he think I'm not busy enough already?"

"It's alright, Master Arachnus," Callie chimed in. "I can take care of it. It should only take a few minutes."

Arachnus glanced sidelong at her, and then shrugged. "Very well," he said, turning back to his work.

Callie took the glove from Artemisia and sat back down at her machine, threading a needle with the sturdiest thread they had on hand. Artemisia pulled over a chair from Arachnus' machine, and sat across from her, watching as Callie knotted the thread and began drawing the needle through the leather.

"You're a tricky woman to track down," Artemisia whispered to her as she watched her work, "I've had my eye out for you for the past couple days, but could never find you. I figured I could always catch you at work."

Callie felt a blush creep over her cheeks and couldn't contain the grin that was now spreading across her face.

"I could say the same thing to you," she said, "But why have you been trying so hard to find me?"

"I was hoping I could take you out somewhere," Artemisia replied. "Maybe we could get a drink and get to know each other?"

Callie glanced up, unsure of how to respond. "I would love to," she said, "I really would. But I live here in the castle and my guardian doesn't like for me to leave unchaperoned."

Artemisia smiled. "I have an apartment here as well," she replied, "How did a human seamstress end up getting a job and an apartment of her own within the castle?"

Callie hesitated and lowered her gaze. "I was brought here as a bondmaid when I was seven," she answered softly.

Artemisia's brow furrowed. "A bondmaid?"

Callie nodded, too embarrassed to look up.

"Are you a changeling?" Artemisia asked.

Callie shrugged. "The circumstances aren't entirely clear to me," she replied, "It all happened so long ago."

Artemisia went quiet a moment, and Callie's heart sank, fearing that she might not want anything to do with her now that she knew her condition of servitude. While most humans living within the kingdom were not of a high status, human slaves were the lowest of the low. But, as she would soon come to find out, Artemisia was not so easy to predict.

"Well then," Artemisia said, "would you like to meet me somewhere on the castle grounds?"

Callie's eyes darted up, a smile alighting her face once again. "Yes," she said, "I would like that very much."

After their first meeting, Callie tried every day to finish her work as quickly as possible in hopes of getting to spend time with Artemisia. Likewise, Artemisia took every opportunity to steal away from the guard for time with Callie. Callie hadn't thought it was possible to be so drawn to another person, to always be thinking about them, to hunger so much for their presence she could hardly concentrate. She wanted to know everything about her and share everything with her. As it turned out, like Callie, Artemisia was not originally from the Underground. She was known throughout her homeland as a skilled swordsman, surpassing all others, male and female alike. However, the rigid customs of her society allowed her little freedom to live the way she wished.

"In my country, a woman could be one of three things," she told Callie, "A wife, a whore, or a nun. None of those choices really suited me."

The King, who had taken notice of her talent, offered her a position among his guard. In exchange for her unwavering loyalty, she took the position and quickly advanced through the ranks.

Callie also shared her own story, about how she once had a family Aboveground, but was taken captive by the King. She talked about how she worked for Arachnus, making herself invaluable to him through her hard work, and how she had even earned herself a room of her own. She talked about how isolated she had been and how nice it was to finally have someone she could talk to.

On the night Artemisia first kissed Callie, they were sitting by the pond where they'd met just weeks before. The moon was out in the clear sky, and the frogs were singing as the air sparkled with lightning bugs. Callie told Artemisia about how she used to capture fireflies as a little girl and keep them all in a jar, watching as they put on a miniature light show right before her eyes.

"Don't you catch them anymore?" Artemisia asked.

Callie shook her head and gazed out across the pond. "No, not anymore," she replied softly. "They were beautiful for that one night, but they would always be dead by morning."

Artemisia regarded her silently, noting how her voice always carried with it soft undertones of melancholy. She was smiling as she looked across the pond, but wistfully, like someone remembering a fragment of joy that had long since passed from them. She only ever seemed to smile when talking about what once was, and Artemisia wished she could somehow change that.

"Can I kiss you, Callie?" she finally asked.

Callie turned to her with a look of surprise, and for a moment Artemisia regretted asking, thinking she might have scared her away. But then Callie's face softened, and she slowly nodded her head.

Artemisia brushed a stray hair behind her ear, then took Callie's face gently in her hand and brushed her lips over hers. Callie's heart fluttered like a bird against her ribcage and a warm intoxication flooded her body as Artemisia moved her lips against hers, bringing her to melt into her like a candle. And Artemisia kept on kissing her, over her jawline, her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids, and down her neck until Callie ached with a wanting she hardly understood. Never before, since entering the Underground, had Callie experienced a moment so excruciatingly wonderful, she wished it would never end.

She was filled with warmth even as Artemisia escorted her back to her room, and gave her one more soft kiss goodnight. She leaned against her door after shutting it behind her, staring blankly into her threadbare bedroom in a transfixed, dreamlike trance. She felt like she couldn't possibly go to sleep, but at the same time, couldn't wait to sleep so that the morning could come faster. The whole night she laid wide awake in bed, running her hands over her lips, her neck, her skin, imagining they were Artemisia's. The ache she felt from their kiss remained with her the whole night.

 **Author's Note: This is a story I thought up while at my job in the bridal shop I work at. It's based loosely on a couple fairytales, most notably, Cinderella and Donkeyskin. I must warn any readers that there will be mature content in later chapters, including both consensual and non-consensual sexual situations. I tried very hard to make sure that the non-con stuff does not come off as fetishy or pornographic, but it does play a role in the plot. Most of the characters in the story are my own, with the exception of the Goblin King. He does play a major role in the story, though only as the antagonist and not the love interest. As you might have guessed, the central romance of this story is between two women. I hope you enjoy it.**


	2. Music Box

**Music Box**

The next time they saw each other, they stole away into Artemisia's private quarters where no discretion or reservation was required of them. The moment the door locked behind them, they were entangled, kissing with a restless hunger that left them both dizzy and breathless. Artemisia's hands clawed at the buttons at the back of Callie's dress, letting it slip unceremoniously to the floor so she could get closer to the lovely figure beneath. Even as they fell back against the bed, Callie didn't really understand what they were doing; she only knew that it satisfied an empty, broken part of herself that she thought would always ache with hunger pangs. She straddled Artemisia's hips as she trailed kisses down her throat and stroked her thighs under her petticoat. She unhooked her corset busk so Artemisia could run her hands up under her chemise, feeling her true, unaltered form. She never realized how badly she wished for human contact or how much she ached to be touched.

But then Artemisia laid her back on the bed and simply laid down beside her, propping her head up in one hand as she stroked Callie's face with the other. "I think we should slow down," she said softly, "I didn't expect you to be this eager."

A blush crossed over Callie's face as she glanced away bashfully. "I've never felt this way about anyone before," she answered.

"Me neither," Artemisia replied, "That's why I don't want to rush into it." She pressed her lips into Callie's forehead.

"Have you ever been with someone else?" Callie asked, "Intimately?"

Artemisia nodded. "With a couple other girls, yes," she replied, "You?"

Callie shook her head. "Besides the King, you're one of the few non-goblins I've ever encountered within the castle. And other than the laundry and the atelier, there aren't a lot of parts of the castle that the King allows me to go."

"Why does the King keep you here, anyway?" Artemisia inquired.

Callie shrugged. "To spite my mother, I guess."

"Your mother?" Artemisia questioned with furrowed brows. "How does the King know your mother?"

Callie shrugged again. "I don't know. I've asked. No one wants to tell me. They won't even say her name. Everyone just calls her The Champion."

Artemisia suddenly sat up in surprise. "The Champion? Your mother is Sarah, Champion of the Labyrinth?"

Callie sat up as well, surprised to hear her mother's name. "My mother's name _is_ Sarah. Why? Do you know about her? Do you know what happened?"

"I do," Artemisia replied hesitantly, "Though I know that King doesn't like us talking about it. It's a bit of a sore subject for him."

"Please tell me!" Callie begged, grabbing her hand, "I've been dying to know."

"Well… quite a long time ago, when your mother was even younger than you are now, the King stole away her baby brother," Artemisia explained. "When she asked for her brother back, the King made her a deal: defeat the Labyrinth, and she could have him back.

"But the deal was actually more of a trap. He felt for certain that she would fail to get through the Labyrinth and when time ran out, she would have to remain in the Underground. Much to everyone's surprise, not only was she resourceful enough to defeat the Labyrinth, but she knew the words to break any claim the King had on her. No human had ever managed anything like it."

Calliope was silent for a moment, contemplating what had just been told to her, eyes downcast and brows furrowed. "So then… why am I here? He gave my mother a challenge and she beat him. I don't understand what crime she committed."

"Her 'crime' _was_ beating him," Artemisia replied, "I've known the King for many years now. Believe me when I say he doesn't take too kindly to losing or not getting his way."

"So you're saying that I'm only here because the King is a sore loser?" Callie asked.

"It would seem so,"Artemisia confirmed.

Callie stared down at the floor as a spring of strong emotion began to well up in her chest. She had always felt primarily fear in regard to the King, but now she was suddenly experiencing a whole range of new emotions toward him: anger, resentment, disgust. To think she's been separated from her family, isolated, and trapped for fourteen years in the Underground all over a stupid game. She swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Are you ok?" Artemisia asked.

"I should be getting back to my room," Callie muttered, picking up her articles of clothing one by one and putting them back on.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Artemisia told her.

"No, no, you didn't upset me," Callie responded, gently placing her hand on her knee, "I just need a moment to process all this."

Artemisia stood and wrapped her arms around Callie's shoulders. "Will I see you again tomorrow?" she asked, planting a kiss on her forehead.

"I hope so," Callie responded, "The King has put in a new order for the fall, so I may have to stay late to help Arachnus with the preparations."

"Well, if you do get a moment, come knock on my door."

Artemisia gave her one last kiss goodby before Calliope slipped out the door and made her way down the hall. She couldn't stop thinking about what Artemisia said. She'd always known the King was petty and unlikeable, but not to such a degree that he would enslave someone's child over a lost bet. She thought her mother must have done something particularly heinous to incur the King's wrath, especially since no one even dared to speak of it. But instead, her fourteen years of captivity were entirely to blame on the King's poor temper.

As she passed by a window, Callie noticed it was still light outside and a balmy breeze was blowing in. She couldn't think of a better way to clear her head than to go for a swim. When she arrived at the gardens, they were blessedly unoccupied. She began to strip off her garments right away before even reaching the lily pond. When she reached the water's edge, she lowered herself in slowly, savoring the cool ripples lapping at her skin. The frogs were singing louder now as the sun was beginning to set and a faint blush colored the sky. Callie gazed up at it, floating on her back, feeling less trapped with the expansive dome of the sky above her instead of an enclosure of cinderblock. She could almost for a moment remember what freedom felt like.

As she relaxed among the lily pads, a large shadow suddenly passed overhead, shaking her out of her reverie. She jerked herself up, looking in the direction she saw it pass, and fixed her eyes on a large barn owl alighting on the ground near the edge of the pond. For a moment it just stood there, staring at her fearlessly, as if it didn't register that she was a much larger predator. Callie could only stare back, unsettled and intrigued by this sudden feathered apparition. She wondered if it belonged to the King, and had somehow gotten loose from the aviary. She began to approach it slowly, gliding through the water as soundlessly as possibly, testing how close she could get before it flew away. Even as she got near the pond's edge, it continued to stare at her, motionless and undisturbed. But just as she reached out and touched the brick that bordered the water, the owl hopped over to where her dress laid crumpled on the ground, and grasping it in its talons, flew away with it.

"Hey!" Callie cried out, lifting herself out of the water and dashing after it. She followed it back through the gardens as it flew low to the ground, perhaps weighed down by the dress, but always just out of reach. Callie ran as fast as she could in her bare feet, hoping it couldn't go much higher with her dress. If it cleared the garden walls, she would have to make her way back to her room in her wet and now transparent undergarments. But worse than going over the walls, the bird flew straight into an open window on the castle's second level.

Callie swore under her breath and stood outside the entrance to the castle, eyes fixed on the window it had just entered. She looked around to see if there was a tarp or anything laying around that she could cover herself with before going inside, but no such luck. Mustering up all her bravado, she took a deep breath and slipped inside the castle door. She peeked both directions down the corridor, relieved to find that it was also empty, and swiftly made her way to the staircase. She ran up the uneven stairs, hoping to catch the dress thief once she reached the top. But upon reaching the top stair, all she could see was another vacant corridor. She stood there for a moment at the top of the landing, wondering if she had seen it go through the right window.

"Missing something?"

The question caused her to whirl around with a startled squeak, facing the corridor's lone occupant. There, standing with arms crossed, her dress clutched in one gloved fist, was none other than the King himself. He leaned against the adjacent wall, smirking at her from under his mess of blond hair. He wore a tailored jacket that Callie recognized as one she had sewn the embellishments on just months before and his characteristically well-fitted trousers. His stylish clothes only made Callie feel all the more naked as she gawked at him, speechless. It was the first time he had ever directly addressed her since their first meeting, yet she felt just as small and frightened as she had back then. The feeling was only compounded by her state of undress and the fact that he was holding her clothing in his possession.

Callie wrapped her arms around herself, trying to cover herself as much as possible, and stumbled backwards. When she finally found the words to speak, they came out a jumbled, stuttering mess.

"I-I'm sorry, Majesty. I was… I was swimming in the pond and an owl flew off with my dress," she blurted out. As truthful as the statement was, it sounded like some ridiculous lie.

The King tilted his head. "Is that so?" he mused, slowly starting to advance toward her. Callie receded at his approach until her back hit the wall behind her. He stopped mere centimeters away from her, raking his eyes up and down her body. "Then I have the owl to thank for such a lovely view."

Callie felt herself physically bristle at the comment as her face grew hot. Was he really coming on to her? After all his years of bullying and outright snubbing her? The same surge of anger from earlier rose up in her briefly, but she pushed it back down to maintain her composure.

"May I please have my dress back, Your Majesty?" she asked softly, in as polite a tone as she could muster.

The King lifted the dress as if to inspect it, a disinterested expression on his face. "Are you sure this is _your_ dress?" he replied, "The material looks very similar to that used in one of my jackets."

Callie clenched her fists. She knew he was toying with her, holding her dress hostage so he could force her to stand there, half-naked and dripping wet for as long as he pleased.

"Master Arachnus allows me to make dresses for myself out of the fabric remnants from your jackets," she explained, trying to hide annoyance in her voice.

The King regarded her again with a raised eyebrow. "Then if the dress is made of _my_ fabric from _my_ jackets, then surely it isn't your dress but _mine._ "

Callie stared blankly at him, exasperated, unable to think of a response. She felt defeated, but was quickly losing patience with his silly power games.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," she said with a small curtsey, "I shall return to my room, then." But as she went to moved past him, his arm shot out, blocking her path. His hand connected with the wall next to her head and he leaned in close.

"I have not dismissed you yet," he growled in a low voice, his expression suddenly darkened and deadly serious.

Callie's breath hitched in her throat, her anger and annoyance now replaced by fear once more. She wracked her brain for something to do, something to say.

"Is there something else I can do for you, Your Majesty?" she asked, carefully minding her tone.

His face softened slightly, clearly pleased with her show of subservience. "I will give you back the dress…" he replied.

A smile alighted Callie's face. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said with another curtsey.

"If you kiss me," he added.

Callie froze, feeling her pulse begin to pick up. She had heard that the King was a shameless flirt with a weakness for beautiful women. She knew that he had kept several mistresses in the past, no doubt among them the beautiful noblewomen she had seen wandering the castle before. Even knowing this, she was surprised to find herself suddenly the target of his amorous attentions. Not only was she exceedingly plain compared to the women she'd seen him with previously, but she had only ever been the target of his bullying and cruel impulses. The last thing she wanted to do was kiss him after being subjected to years of unkindness and after learning about his history with her mother. However, in her current circumstances, she found she had little choice in the matter. He wouldn't let her leave, he had her dress, and he was standing far too close to her.

"Just a kiss, Your Majesty?" Callie inquired meekly.

"Just a kiss," he repeated.

Callie took a deep breath, collecting the all the nerve within her to do whatever was necessary to escape his presence. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ears and leaned in towards his face, tilting her head to place a chaste kiss upon his cheek. But just as she drew near enough, he turned his head and caught her face in his hands, pressing his mouth forcefully against hers. She instinctively recoiled back into the wall where he immediately pinned her under his weight.

A panic rose up in her as she felt him force his tongue into her mouth, holding her head still with a vice-like grip on the back of her skull as his other arm snaked around her body, pulling her closer. A cry broke from the back of her throat and she futilely pushed back against him with all her might. This wasn't anything like the kisses she'd received from Artemisia, which were gentle, tender, full of affection; this kiss was brutal, dominating, and venomous, reducing her to something trapped and helpless.

After what felt like an eternity, he broke the kiss but still held her, now looking at her with a hungry gaze that struck fear into her very core. Callie stood frozen in place like a prey animal, too terrified to move, her breath now shallow and uneven. She was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that they were completely alone in this part of the castle with no one around to hear her scream. Even if that weren't the case, she was completely at the mercy of the King, and no one would dare to stop him. When Callie finally found her voice, it came out shaky and hoarse.

"Please let me go," she whispered, not even remembering her dress or the address him as "Your Majesty."

He continued to gaze darkly at her, then leaned in closer as if to kiss her again, but she quickly turned her face away.

"Majesty, please!" she cried, her voice now tinged with desperation.

This somehow brought him to his senses, and he smirked at her momentarily before releasing her from his hold. The moment she felt his grip loosen, she pushed past him, dashing down the hall as fast as she could, forgetting her dress or any royal protocol owed to him. She wished only to get as far away from him as possible. When she reached her room, she slammed the door and locked it, completely out of breath and still shaking. She tried to make sense of what had just happened. She thought he despised her. She thought she was too far beneath him to even be noticed. For years he'd taken to simply ignoring her existence after kicking her and knocking her down had lost its appeal. Was this just a new, creative way to torment her whenever it struck his fancy? Callie pulled off her wet shift and pulled on her nightdress, still feeling angry, disgusted, and violated. The longer she lived at the castle, the more reasons she found to hate the King. She hoped to avoid him as much as possible in the future.

The next day, she was too busy to dwell on it anymore. She and Arachnus spent the whole day pressing and preparing all the fabrics that were to be used in the King's new fall wardrobe. They were all beautiful wools and cashmeres and silk charmeuse linings that felt lovely to the touch. As she worked at the pressing table, Arachnus hung sketches of each jacket, along with fabric swatches and buttons that were to be used for each. After some time working quietly, Arachnus broke the silence.

"The King needs to be remeasured before I can start drafting the patterns. It's already been a year since the last time he was measured," he mused aloud.

Callie nodded and continued her pressing.

"He said he'd be in his study after two o' clock today, and he could have it done then," Arachnus continued, "He also specifically requested that I send you to do it."

Callie paused and looked up, almost burning a hole in the fabric with the iron.

"I think it's a good idea," Arachnus said cheerfully. "You'll get a chance to practice taking measurements on a real person instead of just a dress form."

"Can't you come with me?" Callie asked, turning toward him. "What if I make a mistake? It'll ruin the whole wardrobe."

"Have a little faith in yourself, girl," Arachnus chided. "You know more than you think you do. And besides, I can't imagine you making an error so great it couldn't be corrected."

"I just…" Callie hesitated, "I would just rather not be there by myself."

Arachnus scoffed and continued hanging the sketches. "Don't be so bashful. The King may _seem_ intimidating, but he's not going to bite. Just do your best to record the measurements accurately and come back. I will take care of everything else while you're gone."

Callie wanted to plead with him further, but once Arachnus made a decision he rarely budged. He didn't know how wrong he was about the King, about the fact that he was indeed as intimidating as he seemed, especially to her. As he handed her a measuring tape and a notebook to write in, she made one last attempt to talk him out of it.

"I don't even know where the King's study is," she told him.

He nudged her out the door with his two lower arms while pointing down the hall with his upper arms. "Down the hall, up the staircase. It'll be the third room on the left," he directed curtly, "Now go."

He shut the door behind him leaving her standing frozen in the hallway. She wanted to run and find Artemisia, but surely she would be busy running drills at this time of day and couldn't be bothered. She wracked her brain for some excuse she could come up with, some way out of it, but she drew a blank. Resigning herself to her fate, she began slowly down the hall. When she reached the door to the study, she stopped and took a deep breath before mustering all the courage inside of her to knock.

"Come in," his smooth voice purred from the other side.

Callie took another deep breath then pushed open the door. There he was, sitting at a large desk, his boots up on the surface as he thumbed through a book. For a moment, he didn't even look at her, just continued leafing through the pages with little regard for whoever he'd just invited in. When he finally did look up, he seemed to recognize her immediately as a wolfish smile spread across his face. Callie gave a small curtsey, still clutching the notebook and measuring tape to her chest.

"I'm here to take your measurements, Your Majesty," she told him, her voice betraying her nervousness.

"Close the door behind you," he replied, standing up from his desk.

Though Callie had hoped she could at least leave the door open, she did as she was told, pulling it shut with an ominous click. Her heart was already pounding as she recalled what had transpired the previous day when they were alone together. Her eyes darted around the room as she approached him to see if there were any alternative exits.

"I suppose you want this off?" he inquired, gesturing to his jacket.

Callie nodded. "Your shirt as well," she added.

"My, how the tables have turned," he jabbed, but Callie gave no reaction to the comment. She laid the notebook down on the desk, turned to an empty page, jotting down a list of the required measurement points as he removed his jacket and shirt.

"What about these?" He asked, pointing to his trousers.

Callie glanced at them briefly and shook her head. "Your trousers are… contoured enough to your body that you can leave them on."

He smirked again, but refrained from any further commentary.

After Callie finished her list, she picked up the measuring tape and drew it out between her fingers. "Just stand naturally," she instructed.

She kept herself as detached as possible as she started with the width measurements, just focusing on the body points and the accuracy of the numbers. He stood perfectly still, not saying anything, but his eyes never leaving her. She could see his gaze on her out of the corner of her eye, though she tried her best to ignore it. She just focused on finishing the measurements as quickly as possible so she didn't have to stay any longer than necessary.

"It's Callie, isn't it?" he inquired, breaking the silence.

"Yes, Majesty," she replied curtly.

"And what is that short for?" he prodded.

"Calliope, sire."

"Calliope…" He drawled out, "Now that's an unusual name. Named for the chief of muses, no doubt?"

Callie got the feeling he was prying for information, but about what she wasn't sure. Surely her name, as unusual as it was, wasn't exactly a fascinating topic of conversation for him. Either that or he was trying to keep her distracted with small talk.

"No, Majesty. Named for the musical instrument," she answered.

"The instrument?" he chuckled, "Why were you named after a musical instrument?"

Callie didn't want to go into it, especially not after what she'd recently learned about him, but she couldn't easily dodge the question.

"My mother collected music boxes," she explained, "What is a calliope but a large music box?"

"Ah, yes," he crooned, "I do recall your mother's fondness for music boxes."

At this, Callie paused and looked up to meet his gaze. He now wore a satisfied smile, as though that was exactly the reaction he was hoping for. Callie could sense that he was toying with her again, but she couldn't help but take the bait.

"Did you know my mother well?" she asked, stretching the tape from his shoulder point to the hollow of his neck.

He reached up and curled his hand around hers, pressing it into his sternum. "Better than most," he replied softly.

Callie pulled her hand away sharply and regarded him warily. She decided not to pursue that line of questioning any further.

After recording the last few measurements, she quickly snatched up her notebook.

"Those are all the measurements we need, Your Majesty. We will inform you once the garments are ready to be fitted," she said with a curtsey.

She hurried quickly toward the door and turned the handle, but as soon she had it open a crack, the King's hand shot forward, slamming it shut again. Callie could feel him at her back, but she didn't dare turn around.

His face came so low to her ear that she could feel him hissing into her hair: "You are always in such a hurry, Callie. Remember who it is who decides when you leave."

Callie could feel her heart in her throat. She was petrified to the spot, half-hoping if she stayed still long enough, he would just let her go.

"I have a gift for you, Callie," she heard him say, "Look."

She turned back toward him, slowly and carefully until she stood fully facing him. As soon as she raised her eyes up to meet his, he turned his hand through the air, producing a crystalline orb at his fingertips. Then he enclosed it in his palm, and opened his hand again slowly. Sitting in the middle of his palm was a beautiful domed music box, with a dark-haired figurine in a white ballgown at its center. With a sharp pang in her heart, Callie recognized it immediately.

"I believe this belonged to your mother," he said.

Callie nodded, fighting back the sudden rush of tears.

"Then it's yours," he reached his hand out toward her.

She knew that she shouldn't have taken it; she knew he was just playing on her emotions, but it was a piece of her mother, and she couldn't turn it down. She cradled the music box in both hands close to her chest, gazing down at the miniature face that could have been her mother's.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You're free to go now, Callie," he told her, pushing off the door and walking back to his desk.

Callie nodded, and exited the room, closing the door softly behind her.


	3. First Fitting

**First Fitting**

"Show me what you did with the others."

They were in Artemisia's room again, where Callie now spent all her evenings after work, her dress, corset, and petticoat strewn across the floor along with Artemisia's boots, trousers and cloak. Callie had tried to be patient so as not to rush anything, but the more time she spent with Artemisia, the more she wanted her. She had never been intimate with anyone. She wasn't even entirely sure what such intimacy would entail between two women. All she knew about human sexuality had been explained to her by Arachnus in a rather vague and rudimentary way, only detailing the mechanical act between a male and female that often resulted in offspring. The nature of sexual attraction was completely unknown to her until she experienced it first-hand, and she hadn't expected the object of her desire to be another female. She knew there had to be a way to consummate such a union, but it was a well kept secret that Artemisia kept guarded. Perhaps she was worried that if she corrupted Callie's virginal purity too early, Callie would look back on it with regret. But at this point, that was the least of Callie's concerns. She wanted only to know how to manifest outwardly what was teeming within her.

"What others?" Artemisia asked, trailing kisses down Callie's throat, occasionally nipping the tender flesh there. Callie laid on the bed beneath her ministrations, feeling overwhelmed by desire as Artemisia's hands moved underneath her shift, brushing occasionally against her naked breasts. Callie's hands likewise traced over Artemisia's muscular back beneath her shirt, delighting in the smoothness of her skin.

"The other women you were with before," Callie explained breathlessly, "Show me what you did when you were with them."

Artemisia glanced back up at her but did not make a move. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes!" Callie moaned in exasperation. She took Artemisia by her shoulders and flipped her on her back, climbing on top to straddle her hips.

"Do to me what you did to them," she demanded, taking her chemise in both hands and pulling it off.

Artemisia laid there in stunned amazement for a moment, taking in the contours of Callie's naked form. She had glimpsed and grazed a few hints of it before, but had never beheld it in its full glory: her small breasts, her delicate ribcage, the tapering at the waist and swelling at the hips. She was taken aback by the brazenness of Callie's display. After considering her lack of experience, Artemisia had decided it was best to ease her into a physical relationship slowly, but perhaps she was more ready than she'd thought.

Artemisia sat up slowly, running her hands up both sides of Callie's body, causing a shiver to run through her.

"You want to know what I did to the others?" she asked languidly, voice full of promise.

"Yes," Callie answered, almost in a whisper.

Artemisia ran her hand up Callie's sternum, between her breasts, placing soft kisses at their swelling.

"Well first…" she drawled, "I would do… this." She took one of Callie's nipples in her mouth, running her tongue over the bud as she kneaded the other one between her fingers.

Callie gasped at the sensation which sent small pulses of pleasure through her. She ran her fingers through Artemisia's hair, pulling her in closer. After a few minutes on one side, Artemisia moved her mouth over to her other breast, making sure to give it equal attention as Callie sighed longingly.

After a few moments, Callie cleared her head long enough to ask, "What would you do next?"

"Next…" Artemisia whispered between kisses, "I would do this."

She took Callie in her arms and flipped her back underneath her, pulling her into another passionate kiss. Callie found this a bit jarring at first, recalling her encounter in the hallway with the King, but she quickly pushed the memory aside, reminding herself that she was with Artemisia now. Artemisia ran her hand down the length of her body, dipping between her legs. Callie now felt a far sweeter agony now as her prying fingers opened her up like a flower, and slipped down into her depths. She moaned into the kiss, now feeling her anticipation building as her body responded eagerly to the touch. Artemisia's mouth moved to her earlobe which she nibbled and sucked, ever increasing Callie's excitement. Her fingers, now slick, moved in firm, deliberate strokes that sent jolts through Callie's whole body.

Then, to Callie's disappointment, Artemisia pulled her hand away and looked directly into her eyes.

"What next?" Callie asked, knowing that there had to be more.

"Next, Callie," Artemisia murmured, "What I do next will only be for you."

She kissed her mouth again before trailing kisses over her jaw, neck, breasts, down past her belly, until she was kissing the inside of Callie's thighs. She stole a glance at Callie as she teased the tender flesh there, inching ever closer to her destination. Then, opening her up again with her fingers, Artemisia placed her mouth right at Callie's center.

Callie's entire body flinched as she felt Artemisia's tongue moving steadily and rhythmically between her thighs. The sensation sent thrilling shockwaves through her that seemed to only build exponentially. Her breathing grew heavier as the muscles in her stomach twitched. Every so often Artemisia glanced up at her, savoring her enjoyment and responding to her body's subtle cues. As Callie grew closer to her precipice, Artemisia's strokes became faster, more deliberate, eliciting small gasps and moans from Callie's lips. Suddenly it hit her like a wave, rushing over her and sending spasms through her body until she was left breathless and trembling in the aftershock.

Artemisia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and laid back down next to her, resting Callie's head on her chest. Callie curled into her as she collected herself. She'd never experienced anything like that before; she didn't even know her body was capable of feeling such things. Her body had always just been a vehicle of labor, a conduit of pain and exhaustion, a burdensome thing that she had to keep rested and nourished just so she could exist another day. She didn't know it was a source of pleasure unto itself, or something through which two people could connect so closely, disregarding all language and feeble communication. For a moment, she felt at peace.

"Tell me about your mother, Artemis," was the first thing Callie said once she caught her breath.

Artemisia laughed out loud at the request. "I just finished making love to you, and you want to talk about my mother?"

"I want to know where you came from," Callie responded, "I want to know everything about you."

Artemisia put a hand behind her head and tilted her eyes up towards the ceiling.

"My mother…" she began, "My mother picked the wrong vocation. She should have become a nun, but instead she married my father. She was quite a genteel lady and practically a living saint. She went to mass every morning, made us pray our rosary every night, and went to confession sometimes multiple times a week. Lord knows she had nothing to confess, but somehow she would conjure up sins to tell the priest."

"Were you at all close with her?" Callie asked.

Artemisia shook her head. "Not really. She was always in her prayers, and I wasn't exactly an ideal daughter. Our family had three daughters, no sons. My two sisters were probably more to her liking, but I was the son my father never had. I was far closer to him than my mother. I much preferred to spend time with him in the smithy over learning to embroider or curtsey or whatever my sisters did."

"So that's how you got into sword fighting," Callie commented with a smile.

"Well of course! We used to make them," Artemisia replied, "That's how I met the sword master who trained me. My mother didn't much approve of it, of course. She wished that I would just go join the Church like every other unmarriageable girl, but that would have far better suited her than me.

"But what about you, huh?" Artemisia asked with a nudge, "What kind of mother was the Champion of the Labyrinth?"

Callie smiled. "She was… amazing," she sighed, "When I think about it, Champion really is a fitting title for her. I always admired how strong and confident she was. 'Strong-willed': that was the word my father used to describe her. It drove him crazy sometimes, but I know that it was what he loved about her too. Funny thing is, I turned out nothing like her. My brothers are about as boisterous and confident as anyone can get, but not her only daughter. She would always scold me saying, 'if you don't learn to stand up for yourself, you'll end up one day under the control of some tyrant.'" Callie chuckled. "I suppose she was right about that last part."

"But how _did_ you end up serving under the King?" Artemisia asked.

"I don't remember," Callie replied, "I just remember I was home, then suddenly I was standing before the King in the throne room. I know that something must have happened to bring me here, but the memory has completely vanished."

"Haven't you ever tried to find a way back?" Artemisia turned towards her.

"How?" Callie asked, "How could I go back when I don't even know how I got here? I might as well be dropped in the middle of the desert and told to find my way home."

She sighed deeply, her eyes reflecting the same wistful melancholy they held the night of their first kiss.

"Believe me," Callie said softly, "I would do _anything_ to go back. There is nothing I want more in the world than to see my mother again."

Artemisia wished she knew the right thing to say. She wished she could promise her some sort of hope for freedom, some sort of hope for the future, but she knew it would be nothing but empty sentiment. She too was in the King's service, bound by oath, and she wouldn't even know how to return Callie to her home if she could.

"Then what are you going to do, Callie?" Artemisia asked.

Callie was silent for a moment before answering: "I'm going to make pretty things and take the days as they come."

* * *

Callie finished stitching the last button to the center front of the jacket and snipped off the excess thread. She held it up admiring her handiwork. It was a beautiful navy wool gabardine with silver buttons and silver embroidered oak leaves at the collar and hem. They were finally finished with the wardrobe order, and could start on the jacket for the Samhain ball, which would require far more extensive work. Still, they were ahead of schedule and Callie was happy about that. In fact, she was happy about quite a lot of things after her time with Artemisia the night before.

"It's finished, Master Arachnus," she announced, turning to her employer.

Arachnus was busy pressing a jacket at the ironing table but turned to take a look at Callie's work. He reached over one pair of arms to examine the jacket while the other continued ironing.

"Very good, Callie," he said, "Hang it up over there with the others."

Callie obeyed, slipping a hanger under the shoulders of the jacket and fastening the first button at the front.

"When will we be able to start cutting the jacket for the ball?" she asked. She was particularly excited about starting on that piece. The King always went all out for a ball, wearing the most ornately embellished ensembles one could imagine. She knew it would take hours of sewing on beads and trims and cording all by hand, she knew her back and shoulders would be knots by the time they finished, but in the end, something beautiful would emerge.

"We will start on it after the King is fitted in the jackets for his wardrobe order," Arachnus replied, "I will send you to take care of that later today."

Callie paused. "You wish me to do the fitting, Master Arachnus?"

"Yes," he replied, "The King was very pleased with you last time and your measurements were impeccable. I think you can handle doing the fitting as well."

Callie nodded. "What time shall I meet him in his study?" she asked.

"Three o'clock. He won't be in his study this time," Arachnnus responded, "He'll be in his private chambers."

Callie felt her heart skip a beat.

"It's a much better place to do a fitting," he continued, "you'll have a full-size mirror at your disposal and anything that doesn't need additional adjustments you can just hang up in the closet."

"Measurements are one thing, but surely I shouldn't do the first fitting unaccompanied, " Callie protested, "What if I accidentally stick the King with a pin? I'll be humiliated."

Arachnus let out a heavy sigh. "Callie, please don't argue with me," he groaned, "I'm not going to be around forever, and you're going to need to be able to do these things on your own."

Callie knew that fighting it any further wasn't going to do her any good, so she didn't push the issue. After all, her last encounter with the King hadn't been so bad. In fact, considering the gift he had given her, it had almost been pleasant. But she had been in his study, a fairly neutral setting, nothing so intimate as a man's private chambers.

When it came three 'o clock, Callie packed a basket with a pincushion, ruler, scissors and a few spools of thread, draped the jackets over her arm, and left without a word. When she arrived at the door of the King's bedroom, she hesitated for but a moment before knocking on the door. This time he came to answer, greeting her with his usual smile upon opening the door.

"Ah yes, come in, Callie," he said cheerfully, holding the door open for her as she entered. Once in, he closed it behind them and locked the bolt.

Callie looked around the room. Though it was much larger than her own, it was much smaller than she'd imagine a king's room being. The furnishings were elegant, but simple, which seemed uncharacteristic of a man who dressed so flamboyantly. He had only a bed, a nightstand, a desk, and a large oval, full-length mirror. The windows were large, with heavy, brocade drapery pulled aside, allowing the light to fill the room. She took it all in for a moment before turning back to the King.

"Where shall I put my things?" she asked.

"Put the basket on the nightstand," he replied, "The jackets you can just lay on the bed."

She did as she was told, taking her pincushion out of the basket and tying it around her wrist. Then she picked the first jacket off the pile and held it open for the King.

"Would you like to try this one first, Your Majesty?" she inquired.

He slipped his arms into the sleeves and pulled it around his torso, buttoning it in the front and examining himself in the mirror.

"Very nice," he said, turning to look from the side, "Who did the embroidery on the hem?"

"I did, sire," she replied

Really?" he said with surprise, turning back toward her. "Beauty and talent," he purred, turning back toward the mirror.

He slipped the jacket off and handed it back to Callie. "Let's see the next one, then."

She slipped the next jacket over his arms and he looked it over in the mirror. "This one could come in a bit in the sleeves," he told her.

"Of course," she responded, coming over to assist him.

He watched her closely as she began pinning the excess fabric out of the seams, a smile playing upon his lips.

"How are you enjoying that music box?" He finally asked, after a momentary hush.

"I'm enjoying it very much, Your Majesty," she replied, "Thank you for giving it to me."

"Your mother was quite fond of it as well," he told her, catching her glance up at the mention of her mother, "I'm glad you like it."

Callie dropped her gaze and continued pinning. "How did you meet my mother?" she asked, trying to keep her tone as casual as possible.

"She called upon me," he replied, just as casually, "She grew weary of the drudgery of her child care duties and asked me to take her infant brother from her. I acquiesced."

"She _asked_ you to take her brother?" Callie balked.

"Yes," he answered, "Silly girl… she knew how fond I was of her, but still didn't think I would do it. As soon as she wished him away, she was begging for him back again,"

Callie placed the last pin then slid the jacket off his shoulders and offered him the next.

"How would she have known you were so fond of her?" Callie asked, "Wasn't that your first time meeting?"

"Take the hem up on this one a couple of inches," he directed her. She nodded, folding up the hem and pinning it in place.

"I told her in writing that I was fond her," he continued, "She even committed it to heart. If she didn't know that I would do anything for her, then it's only because she's a fool."

His last couple words were tinged with bitterness and fell on Callie's ears harshly, but she didn't react.

"What happened after you took her brother?" Callie asked.

"As I said before, she begged for him back," he replied, "And generous as I am, I offered her a chance to run my labyrinth to retrieve him from me."

Callie had a hard time grasping this line of logic. "But surely if you were so fond of her," Callie countered, "you would have just given her brother back when she asked…"

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "No," he replied darkly, slipping off the jacket and slipping on the next one. "That's not how it works. She had to come to me."

He looked in the mirror, "This one's fine. Let's see the last one."

Callie gave him the final jacket and continued her questioning. "Did she run the labyrinth, then?"

"She did," he answered, his voice now taking on an irritated edge, "And she made quite a mess of things along the way. She turned subjects against me, committed vandalism, wreaked havoc in the Goblin City. But all that could have been forgiven had she not committed her final crime."

He took off the last jacket without comment and handed it to her.

"Which was?" Callie pried.

"I offered her everything," he continued, voice now seething with resentment, "And she left me with nothing."

His bitterness was plainly visible on his face which was now twisted into a frightening scowl. Callie turned away, unnerved by how quickly the tone had shifted. She picked up the approved jackets off the bed and took them over to the closet to hang them up. She hadn't said a word in response to his last statement, but he kept going.

"She took her brother and left here to carry on with her pitiful human existence," he practically spat the words.

Callie scurried over to the nightstand, untying her pincushion from her wrist and placing it in the basket.

"She put herself outside of my reach and never called on me again," his voice was a low growl now.

Callie went over to the bed and picked up the remaining jackets. That's when she felt him behind her, gathering her long, dark hair into his hand and closing it in his fist.

"She put herself out of my reach," he repeated, a giddiness playing upon his voice, "but even so, she couldn't keep everything out of my reach."

Callie froze as he swept her hair over her shoulder so he could press his lips against the back of her neck. One arm snaked around her chest, the other around her waist and she could only stand there, petrified, as her blood rushed in her ears and her mind raced frantically

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice betraying her unease.

"You look just like her…" he whispered against her skin. His hand slid across her chest and up her throat to tilt her chin up as he continued to kiss her neck. "You sound like her… You smell like her."

Callie flinched as he inhaled deeply against her hair. Her nerves were now drawn tighter than violin strings as she felt his hand at her waist now undoing the buttons of her blouse.

"Majesty, I must go," she told him as she attempted to pull away from his embrace, but his arms only locked around her tighter.

"You may go when I say you may go," he replied. He moved his hand to slide up between the plackets of her blouse, cupping her breast.

A blind panic immediately seized Callie and she began to struggle, dropping his jackets to the floor as she tried to pry herself away from him.

"No. Majesty, please! Let me go." Her ever-increasing terror trembled upon her voice, but he would not let go. Worse still, he forced her down to the bed.

"You would not defy your King, would you, Callie?"

She tried to crawl away, but he snatched her back and began pulling her unbuttoned blouse off her shoulders. Tears stung her eyes and her breathing came uneven as he pulled her blouse away completely and began working at her corset busk.

"No! Stop, please!" She twisted in his arms to push him away, but he snatched her wrists, pinning her down on her back. Then she could see it again in his eyes: that cold, relentless hunger.

He pressed his forearm into the hollow of her neck, the pressure threatening to crush her windpipe if she gave him any reason to bear down.

"Hush, Callie," he said, a dangerous edge to his voice.

The tears spilled over from her eyes as she felt him pulling up her skirts, running his hand hand up along her thigh. She brought her hands up to push his arm away from her throat, but he pressed in harder. The ceiling above her started spinning, her vision became hazy, the only thing she could hear was the sound of her own breathing. That is, until she heard the knock.

They both seized up at the sound.

"Your Majesty?"

It was Artemisia's voice. Callie's breath hitched in her throat.

"Your Majesty, I need to discuss something with you." she called from the other side of the door.

Callie felt the King's entire body tense. "Can it wait, Artemisia?" he called back after a long pause, a strong hint of irritation in his voice.

"Not this time, sire," She replied, "There was another riot outside of the palace gates today. I don't think this matter can wait any longer."

He swore under his breath, and glanced down at Callie who was still petrified beneath him. "Fix your clothes," he growled into her ear before lifting himself off her.

Callie immediately obeyed, snatching up her blouse and buttoning it as quickly as she possible with her trembling fingers. She gathered up the jackets from the floor as the King walked to the door and opened it for Artemisia. She seemed surprised to see Callie there, but Callie kept her head lowered and would not raise her eyes to meet her gaze. She only gathered up her things and scurried toward the door without looking up. Just as she reached the threshold, the King stopped her in her tracks.

"Callie," he said, "I will see you again when the alterations are complete." His face and tone were deadly serious. It was clearly not a request.

Callie nodded and bobbed a shallow curtsey before pulling the door shut behind her.

Artemisia watched her leave, sensing that she had just walked in on a rather tense situation.

"She looks distressed," she commented to the King.

He shrugged. "She's a shy little thing," he responded, walking over to his desk and taking a seat in the chair, "Doesn't much care for social interactions."

Artemisia glared at him skeptically. "Had she been crying?" she pried, "Her eyes looked swollen."

"It's probably the pollen," he answered, "You know how sensitive you humans are to seasonal changes. Now tell me what happened with this riot."

Artemisia crossed her arms and strode toward him. "Bad harvest again this year. It's caused a good deal of agitation among the masses."

"So why are they rioting outside of my castle?" he asked.

"They don't feel like Your Majesty is doing enough to address the crisis," she replied.

"What the hell do they expect me to do about it?" he snapped, "A bad harvest is a bad harvest."

Artemisia shrugged. "Cut taxes, for one. At least take some of the economic burden off of the farmers so they can sell their fruit at a fair price," she replied. "They're also not especially thrilled to know that you're hosting a ball here on Samhain when they can barely afford to eat."

"Would they rather I make absolutely no effort to maintain diplomatic relations with neighboring kingdoms?" he scoffed. He grabbed the decanter on his desk and poured a glass of wine, offering it to Artemisia before pouring one for himself.

"I think diplomatic relations would be better maintained if you married one of the noblewomen they've sent to you instead of sending them back, deflowered and without prospects," Artemisia countered, taking a sip of her wine.

The King shot her a disdainful glare. "Surely you are not one to be lecturing me on my methods of courtship. How many of my maid servants have _you_ deflowered thus far?"

Artemisia shrugged again. "Doesn't matter," she replied, "I'm not the king, and I can't sire a bastard."

He turned away toward the window and took a sip of his own glass. "I will not be marrying any of those noblewomen," he stated plainly, "I have already selected my intended bride."

"Well, who is she if not one of those women?" Artemisia pried.

"The Champion's daughter," He replied, taking another sip of wine.

Artemisia looked at him stunned, absorbing the shock of his words. "The seamstress?" she exclaimed incredulously, "The one who just left?"

"Yes," he replied simply.

"Your Majesty, she's a human servant," Artemisia pointed out.

"Yes, I know," he responded.

"So surely you know that nothing will upset diplomatic relations more than choosing a human servant as your bride over a noblewoman from one of the other kingdoms." Artemisia couldn't believe that she had to explain this.

"I'm well aware of that," he told her, "That is why I'm throwing a ball."

"I don't think a ball will be enough to smooth over any ensuing conflict from such an insult," Artemisia argued.

"Don't fret, Artemisia. I have it all under control," he assured her.

Artemisia, knowing she couldn't sway him, changed the subject.

"So does the girl know she's marrying you?" she asked, wondering if that was possibly the reason why Callie looked so upset when she left.

"Not yet," he replied casually, "She will in due time."

"Perhaps you ought to give her some advanced notice before the wedding day," Artemisia stated sarcastically.

"My intentions will be known to her well before the wedding day," He said standing up from the desk, "If they are not known to her already."

He put his hand on Artemisia's back and began guiding her toward the door.

"I will see to it that taxes are lowered on the farmers," he informed her, "And I will provide wine for the festival on Samhain. But if one more subject is caught making a fuss outside my castle, you will see to it that they are given their own personal Oubliette."

"Understood, Your Majesty," Artemisia affirmed.

She bowed and turned to let herself out.

"Oh, and Artemisia," the King said before she could close the door. She turned and looked back at him.

"Don't worry," he smirked, "I'll invite you to the wedding."


	4. Cat and Mouse

**Cat and Mouse**

Callie couldn't bring herself to return the atelier that day. She walked unsteadily back to her bedroom, and it wasn't until she closed the door behind her that she realized she was still trembling. She had never been so profoundly terrified in her life. The sequence of events kept playing over again and again in her head. She had given the King the benefit of the doubt that, while he may have been a rake and seducer, he surely wasn't a predator. She had gone to his room, all reservations pushed aside, believing he would not be the kind of man to take advantage of a woman's trust and vulnerability. Clearly she had been mistaken. There was no question that she had resisted him. Not only resisted, she had literally _fought_ him, but he still would not relent. He ignored her pleas and seemed to even relish her struggles, like they were no more than an obstacle for him to overcome. Had he not been interrupted, Callie knew he would have gone further still. The very thought made her sick to her stomach.

She could still feel his hands on her when she threw his jackets on the bed and went into her washroom to begin filling the tub with water. She needed to wash him off of her; she needed to calm down. She slipped out of her skirt and petticoat and began unbuttoning her blouse. She removed it along with her corset and chemise before slipping into the tub. The water was lukewarm, if not cold, but it still felt good against her skin. To take her mind off the King, her thoughts drifted to her mother.

What an amazing woman… That she could waltz into a strange kingdom, turn the whole thing upside down, and bring a king to his knees to rescue someone that she loved. Callie could only dream of having a fraction of such bravery and strength. But something about it gnawed at the corner of her mind: if her mother had gone to such lengths to rescue her brother, why had she not done the same for her only daughter? Had she been barred from the kingdom? Had it not occurred to her that the King might have taken her? Then a morose thought crossed Callie's mind: perhaps she just wasn't worth saving.

Callie felt her heart sink to its usual melancholic depths. She had always questioned her own worth, even before she was taken Underground. Her brothers were always so loud and demanding, never questioning whether they were actually deserving of the things they felt entitled to: their parents' attention, an extra serving of dinner, a ride in the front seat of the car. But Callie was never so sure. A voice in her head was always accusing her: _who are you? Who are you to make such demands? Who do you think you are?_ The answer would come almost immediately, _I am no one. I am a stagehand. I am a shadow in the background of everyone else's lives. My place is out of the way, behind the curtain, neither seen nor heard._ That was how she lived her life. It was lonely, but it was easy. It was mute, but it was quiet. It was constrained, but it was safe.

Or so she thought.

Callie lifted herself out of the tub and wrapped a towel around herself. Though it was barely five o' clock in the evening, she felt exhausted. The events of the day weighed so heavily upon her that she didn't even bother putting on her nightgown before collapsing on the bed. She laid on her side, facing the door, her heavy-lidded eyes fixed on her mother's music box. Reaching her hand out, she lifted it off the nightstand and wound the key as far as it would go. She listened to the lilting melody, watching the doll turn in endless circles, until she couldn't stay awake any longer.

The next day, she got an earful from Arachnus for not returning to work after the fitting, but Callie found it difficult to concentrate on his reprimand. She could only mutter an apology and fall into her seat at the sewing machine to begin the alterations on the jackets. Even taking her time and going as slowly as possible, she finished the work within a couple hours. After tying off the last stitch, Callie just sat idly at her machine, staring at the detestable garments as she fidgeted nervously with a pair of fabric shears in her hands. When Arachnus looked over to see that she wasn't working, he began to lose his patience.

"Callie!" he snapped, causing her to jump, "Are you finished with the jackets?"

"Yes," she answered feebly, still looking on in weary daze.

"Then hang them up!" he demanded. He shook his head, returning his attention to the cutting table. "I don't know what's gotten into you lately," he muttered.

Callie did as she was told, hanging the jackets up on the rack, but just as sluggishly as she had performed the alterations. Arachnus scowled at her, then picked up the center front piece of the newly cut ballroom jacket and handed it to her.

"Here," he said, "Cut a strip of fabric and sew binding to the buttonholes. Once you're done, you can take the finished jackets back to the King."

Callie took the piece and sat down again at her sewing machine, a creeping feeling of dread falling over her. He wanted her to deliver the jackets to the King, to be alone in a room with the King… A cold sweat broke out on her back. She continued to fidget with the fabric shears as the previous day's events flashed through her mind, her heart racing, her vision swimming. She felt like she was still there, still fighting him. Her hand now gripped the shears, the open blade pressing into the palm of her right hand. She could almost hear him whispering against her ear, feel him dragging her beneath his looming form. She could feel the petrifying terror, gripping her. She counted her breaths as they came shallow and shuttering. One… two… three… Squeezing her eyes shut, she jerked the shears back with full force, slicing her palm wide open. She cried out in pain, doubling over as she cradled her now bloody hand to her chest.

"Callie?" Arachnus called out with concern. He rushed over to her and saw the blood dripping off of her hands onto her skirt. "Heavens, child, what happened?"

"I don't know," Callie groaned. Arachnus jumped up and scurried back to the cutting table, quickly tearing off some strips of cotton voile to wrap around her palm.

"You won't be able to work like this," he said shaking his head as he wrapped her hand tightly in the cotton, "Go back to your room, and keep pressure on the wound. Try to move your hand as little as possible."

Callie nodded and stood up from her seat, drifting slowly toward the door. As soon as she stepped out into the hallway she felt a flood of relief wash over her. Her hand throbbed painfully by her side, but she would not have to see the King today, and for that she could have almost wept for joy.

* * *

The King waited in his chambers, shifting through papers on his desk as he sipped a glass of wine. He usually attended to important matters of state in his study, but his tailor had informed him that the jackets would be done by midday, and that he would send Callie to deliver them. The documents detailed the new taxation guidelines and trade agreements with neighboring kingdoms, but he could hardly concentrate on any of it. His mind was constantly consumed by thoughts of the Champion's daughter. Sarah's daughter.

She had been easy to ignore as a child. She stayed out of the way, attending to her duties, hardly ever leaving the atelier. As a child, she served only as a double-edged source of both satisfying vengeance and bitter resentment. Though her presence in the castle meant that he had finally gotten the upper hand over the woman who jilted him years ago, she was also a constant reminder that his beloved Sarah had married and born children for some other man. That alone was enough reason to loathe her, making her existence within the castle as miserable as possible. But as the years passed, he noticed her less often and eventually forgot about her altogether. That is, until the day he saw her at the lily pond.

He had thought the gardens were empty and he could finally get a moment's peace to himself without having the address the problems and concerns of an entire kingdom. The gardens were, in fact, built for that explicit purpose and most of the castle's inhabitants knew to stay well away from them. But that's where he saw her, slipping out of her dress, running her fingers through her coset lacing before peeling it right off. The sun shining through the garden revealed a shadow of her delicate figure through the long, loose-fitting garment she retained. Then, stepping down into the pool, she laid herself out across the water like a dark-haired Ophelia, only her thin, white chemise still clinging to her. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. It was like his Sarah had never left.

He couldn't help himself. He had to lure her away; he had to be alone with her. When he cornered her in the hallway that day and kissed her, she squirmed in his arms so prettily, it stirred up all those frustrated passions that had long laid dormant. She was clearly frightened of him, but that only made it all the more enticing. His Sarah had also been frightened, she had also been resistant and defiant, but that was just all part of the allure. After all, only the strongest of wills are really worth breaking.

He almost gave into temptation yesterday, all that talk of her mother reopening old wounds as she stood so very near to him. He would have had her right there if the captain of his guard hadn't picked such a horrendous time to discuss issues of security. But he knew he would see her again soon. In a matter of minutes she would be knocking on his door, all timid and demure, jackets draped over her arm. He wouldn't have to wait long.

However, when the knock finally came at the door, he jumped up and rushed to answer, only to find, much to his disappointment, the tailor waiting on the other side instead of Callie.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty," he greeted him, "We have completed the changes to your jackets."

"Where's Callie?" the King asked with a frown, "I thought she was supposed to deliver them."

"Callie sustained an injury at work today," the multi-armed man answered, "A pretty bad one at that. She will likely be out of commission for a couple of weeks."

"I see," the King replied, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's no worry, Your Majesty," the tailor assured him, "We're ahead of schedule right now, so even without Callie working, we will still be able to have your jacket ready in time for the ball."

"Well, that's good to hear," the King answered, not sounding particularly pleased. "Go ahead and hang them in the closet."

"Wouldn't you like to try them on first?" the tailor inquired.

"I will try them on later," the King replied dismissively, returning to his desk.

"As you wish," the tailor answered, going over to the closet to hang up the jackets. He gave the King a brief bow before exiting and closed the door behind him.

The King sat at his desk, now tapping a gloved finger at his jaw as he glowered. The timing of Callie's injury struck him as especially odd. He knew that, after their encounter the day before, she would be reticent to return, but having made his expectations explicitly clear, he had little doubt that she would comply. Would she really go so far as to purposefully injure herself just to avoid him?

The thought brought a smirk to his lips. How fun. He always did enjoy a good game of cat and mouse. Her mother had always been a runner so why should he be so surprised to find that Callie is too? Clearly the peach doesn't fall so far from the tree. Yes, he would let her run, he would give her a head start even. So much sweeter the victory when she was finally caught.

* * *

Callie sat by the pond's edge, watching the calico-scaled carp kiss the underside of the water's surface. Her hand still stung, throbbing through the bandages as she cradled it in her lap. She hadn't meant to cut herself so deeply. Now she would likely be unable to work for weeks. Not only would she have no part in the construction of the ballroom jacket, but Arachnus would now have to do it all on his own. As relieved as she was to be out of the King's reach, she also couldn't help but feel guilty. Hopefully after a few weeks of her absence, the King would forget about her and move on to some other diversion, leaving her to live and work in peace.

"You're certainly off early," she heard a voice behind her say.

Callie jumped and turned her head, relieved to see Artemisia standing behind her.

"Hi," she said, smiling weakly at her before turning back towards the pond. Artemisia sat down next to her.

"You didn't come to see me yesterday," Artemisia stated.

"I'm sorry," Callie replied softly, "I wasn't feeling very well." She kept her eyes downcast kicking her bare feet nervously in the water.

"What happened here?" Artemisia asked, pointing to her bandaged hand.

"I cut myself on a pair of scissors," Callie answered. "It's pretty bad. That's why I'm not at work right now."

"Can I see it?" Artemisia asked.

Callie gave her her hand, allowing Artemisia to gently unwrap the bandages until the wound was in view, no longer bleeding so profusely, but split wide open in an angry, red gash.

"Good lord, Callie!" Artemisia exclaimed, "How on earth did you manage this?"

Callie shrugged. "I can be pretty absent-minded sometimes," she said with a weak chuckle, "I wasn't really paying attention."

"This might need medical attention," Artemisia told her in a serious tone.

Callie pulled her hand away and shook her head, still keeping her gaze averted. "No, it's fine," she insisted, "I'll just keep it bandaged and it should heal in a couple of weeks." She wrapped the bandages back around her hand, and returned it to her lap.

Artemisia regarded her intently. Something was definitely off. She was far more withdrawn than usual and she wasn't even looking at her. She had been that way since their chance encounter in the King's chambers just the day before.

"Callie," Artemisia said seriously, "What happened yesterday?"

"I told you," Callie replied, "I just wasn't feeling very well."

"No, I mean what happened when you were in the King's room?" Artemisia asked.

Callie didn't answer. Her brows furrowed as she kept her eyes fixed to the pond's surface.

"Callie, did he…" Artemisia tried to find a way to word it delicately, "Did he lay his hands on you?"

Callie closed her eyes, furrows deepening in her brow as a pained expression crossed her face. She hesitated a moment, then nodded slowly.

Artemisia clenched her fists. "How far did he go?" she questioned further.

"Pretty far," Callie replied, her voice breaking a little bit. "I will always be grateful to you for showing up when you did. If you hadn't, then I know he would have…" She couldn't bring herself to finish the statement.

"Why didn't you tell me, Callie?" Artemisia asked, feeling a little hurt.

Callie shrugged. "I didn't want you to think I had… invited it," she murmured.

"Invited it? Why the hell would I think that?" Artemisia demanded.

Callie lowered her head. "Perhaps I _was_ a little too eager when we were together the other day," she said softly, "I didn't want you to think that I am that way with everyone."

"Callie, I told you before, I've known the King for years," Artemisia explained, "If there's one person to blame for what happened, it's certainly not you."

She was livid. She had always known the King was something of a libertine and chasing the skirts of servant girls wasn't entirely beneath him, but she never thought he would stoop so low as to use force on someone unwilling. And Callie of all people. Hadn't he told her that he was planning on making her his bride? Why would he treat a woman he planned on taking to wife with so little dignity?

Artemisia turned toward Callie and stroked the side of her face with her hand.

"Callie," she said softly, "Please don't believe that I think any less of you because of what we did that day. I'm glad we did it. You were so beautiful."

Callie smiled and pressed her hand over Artemisia's. "I'm glad we did it too," she whispered.

"I will do whatever I can to keep you safe from the King," Artemisia assured her, "Have you told Arachnus yet?"

Callie shook her head.

"Why not?" Artemisia asked in frustration, "If you don't let him know, he's just going to keep sending you to the King by yourself."

"How can I tell him?" Callie murmured softly, turning away. "It's too shameful. It was hard enough telling you."

"Let me talk to him for you," Artemisia offered, "You don't have to deal with this on your own, Callie. You have people who care about you."

Callie lifted her gaze to her, a soft smile on her lips. "You care about me, Artemisia?" she murmured.

Artemisia turned to Callie and brushed her fingers through her hair, tilting her head up so she could look into her eyes. She leaned in, kissing her tenderly as she stroked her fingers down the nape of her neck. For a moment, Callie felt all her anxiety melt away, her whole world completely absorbed into Artemisia. When she pulled away, she gazed again into Callie's eyes, pressing her forehead against hers.

"Yes, Calliope," she whispered, "I do care about you."

* * *

Arachnus was putting the kettle on the range as he scooped a spoonful of tea leaves into his teapot. He had finally settled in for the night after working a few hours overtime in the atelier, trying to keep on top of his workload. He'd forgotten how much longer everything took without Callie there to help him. As strangely as she'd been acting lately, she always had been a big help to him. Even before meeting her, he had always been wrapped up in his work, not really caring so much about other people as the clothing that they wore. When he first learned he would be receiving the Champion's daughter as his assistant, he was irritated. He didn't have a fondness for children, and he never married, so he never had much of a chance to develop one. Surely he did not possess the patience to babysit some petulant brat while he tried to focus on getting work done. But Callie did not turn out to be what he expected. Even as a child, she was so very quiet and withdrawn. She was eager to help and always did as she was told. Then, as she got older, she developed an interest in the craft that almost rivaled Arachnus'. He was only all too happy to teach her, having never met anyone who shared so intense an interest in tailoring as he had. The more she learned, the more indispensable she became, to the point that even a week or two without her help felt impossible to accomplish.

The sound of the kettle pierced the air, and as he reached over to remove it from the heat, a knocking came at his door. He growled under his breath, annoyed to be receiving visitors at this time of night, especially after such a long day. After pouring the boiling water into the teapot, he shuffled toward the door as the visitor knocked a second time.

"I'm coming!" he grumbled, before reaching for the handle. He opened it to see the lady soldier from His Majesty's guard standing at his threshold.

"Do you know what time it is?" he demanded.

She regarded him with a cool, unwavering expression even as he scowled at her.

"I'm here to ask you a favor," she stated simply,

"Who are _you_ to be asking favors of _me_?" he snarled, nearly slamming the door in her face. But she caught the door before he could close it, now looking more intensely at him.

"Not a favor for me," she told him, "A favor for Calliope. I'm here on her behalf."

The mention of his apprentice caught his attention, and he narrowed his eyes at her, taking a moment to consider her request. Finally, he sighed and opened the door, inviting her inside.

"Take a seat," he told her, pulling out a chair for her at his kitchen table. She sat down as he poured two cups of tea, offering her one before taking the seat right across from her.

"What is this favor you need?" he asked, puffing at the steam over his cup.

"I need to ask that you stop sending Callie to fit the King by herself," the soldier answered, taking a sip of her beverage.

Arachnus blinked all four eyes at her blankly. "May I ask why?" he inquired.

The soldier raised her hazel eyes to meet his, wearing a sober expression. "The King, as of late…" she began with some hesitation, "has been behaving _ungallantly_ towards Callie." She tapped the side of her teacup nervously. "During his last fitting, he took one too many liberties with her. She fears that if she continues to do his fittings on her own, he will only continue to… escalate in his advances."

"Nonsense!" Arachnus barked, "The King is an honorable man. Callie must have misunderstood."

"An honorable man, but still a man," Artemisia continued. "You'd be surprised what becomes of honorable men when you put them alone in a room with a pretty girl."

Arachnus was silent for a moment, considering her words. Callie had been so reluctant whenever he sent her to assist the King, but he'd always just dismissed it a result of her natural timidity. It hadn't even occurred to him that she might have other reasons for her objections.

He let out a heavy sigh, scratching his head with one of his hands. "I should have known," he said, "She was always coming up with excuses. She usually just does as she's told, but when it came to the King…"

"She said she was too embarrassed to tell you directly," the soldier told him, taking a sip of her tea, "so she asked me to tell you on her behalf."

"So why did she send _you_ in particular to tell me?" Arachnus asked, "Who exactly are _you_ to Callie?"

The soldier looked taken aback, clearly unprepared for that question. She shifted her gaze to the side as a faint blush crept across her olive complexion. "Callie and I have become very close over the past few months," she answered cryptically.

"Ay, and I heard that you've been very close with a couple of the King's chamber maids as well," Arachnus stated accusingly, "You're the Captain of the Guard, correct? Your reputation proceeds you, madam."

She looked at him speechless for a moment, before furrowing her brows and shifting her gaze downwards. "It's different with Callie…" she murmured.

"Of course it is!" Arachnus scoffed.

"It is," she insisted, raising her gaze back up to meet his, "Do you think I would be here at this time of night to entreat you if it wasn't?"

Arachnus crossed a pair of his arms and leaned back in his chair. "I've known Callie since she was a small child," he told her, "I practically raised her on my own. She's like a daughter to me. I will gladly do whatever it takes to protect her from the King if that's what's required of me. But don't give me a reason to protect her from you as well, because I won't hesitate to do so."

"I won't, sir," the Captain answered earnestly, "And I promise to do my part to keep her safe as well. But as her guardian and employer, I wanted you to be aware of what was going on before it spiraled out of hand."

"I appreciate that," Arachnus said with a nod.

The Captain emptied the contents of her teacup and stood up from the table. "Well, I've said what I came here to say, so I won't impose on you any longer," she told him, "Thank you for the tea."

Arachnus remained sitting at the table, arms still crossed. "May I at least have the name of my ward's valiant, young suitor?" he inquired.

"It's Artemisia, sir," she answered.

"Artemisia…" he repeated. He stood up from the table and walked her to the door. "Thank you for coming to speak with me. Please take care."

"Enjoy the rest of your evening, sir," Artemisia said with a bow. Then she turned and stepped out into the darkness, disappearing from view.


	5. Generosity

**A/N: I apologize for the delay. My wife and I just came back from our vacation in the mountains. We had a lovely time.**

 **Generosity**

"Must you go back to work tomorrow?" Artemisia moaned, burying her head in Calliope's lap.

They lounged together on Artemisia's bed, which had become something of a permanent residence for them over the past couple weeks. Callie's hand had almost completely healed, so much so that it no longer needed to be bandaged. She had shown the progress of her recovery to Arachnus, and he gave her permission to return to work the next day. She had relished her time with Artemisia, but when she was away, her hours passed tediously, having nothing to do but stare out the window and watch grass grow. As much as it displeased Artemisia to no longer return from her shifts to a woman in her bed, Callie looked forward to getting back into her old routine.

"Yes, I must," Callie laughed, stroking Artemisia's sleek, obsidian hair, "If for no other reason than to preserve my own sanity."

"But haven't you _liked_ spending all this extra time with me?" Artemisia asked, peeking up at her.

"I have," Calliope replied with a warm smile, "Immensely. But I must find a way to make myself useful again. I've had absolutely nothing to do between the time we're together and the time you're away. It's driving me mad."

Artemisia pulled her feet up to the bed and turned on her back so she could lay facing Callie. "Do you like working in the atelier?" she asked.

Callie nodded. "I do," she answered, "I like making things with my hands, especially things that are as beautiful as they are functional."

"Even if it's all for the King?" Artemisia asked, a touch of bitterness on her tongue.

Callie thought about it a moment before replying. "Yes," she said, "Beautiful things are worth making for their own sake."

"But it's for his sake too," Artemisia pointed out

"The clothes are made for him, but they could be for anyone," Callie countered, "They're like his skin, his costume. The clothes make the man, not the other way around. But anyway, who are you to talk? You're the Captain of his Guard. Don't you like what you do?"

Artemisia was quiet a moment before responding. "I think I used to like it," she said, "By defending him, by defending the castle, I felt like I was doing my part to keep the kingdom safe. I was keeping the peace, maintaining order. I suppose I still am."

She paused before continuing. "But he's changed a lot in recent years. He drinks too much, he doesn't really seem to care what's going on in the kingdom. He's become quicker to punish even the slightest infraction with severity, and half the time, I'm defending him against angry mobs of his own making. While I know even a tyrant is preferable to anarchy, I feel like I'm losing a little bit of myself any time I have to turn against the people for his sake. The weak should be guarded against the strong, not the other way around."

"But it's never been the other way around," Callie scoffed, "The strong gather together and the rest of us are at their mercy."

Artemisia tilted her head up toward her. "You don't have to be at anyone's mercy, Callie," she said.

"If only that were true," Callie replied, "But we both know it isn't. I'm so completely at his mercy that the best I can hope for is to go unnoticed long enough that he forgets about me."

"Are you counting on that happening?" Artemisia asked, "Him forgetting you?"

"Surely he will," Callie said hopefully, "He can have any woman he wants, including many that are far more beautiful than me. I think he just likes novelty. Once he finds someone else to chase, he'll forget all about me."

Artemisia said nothing. She felt her chest tighten as she remembered what was told to her in the King's chambers. She hadn't yet found the heart to tell Callie of the King's intentions, half-hoping that he would change his mind on his own. Occasionally, she would remind him subtly of princesses from other kingdoms, of mistresses he had in the past to see if he showed any interest, but much to her frustration, it hardly seemed to register. She would wrack her brain for ways to shift his attention away from Callie, but couldn't think of anything that wouldn't be blatantly obvious or end up having the opposite effect. One surefire way to make the King want something was to tell him he couldn't have it.

"What if he doesn't forget about you, Callie?" Artemisia asked.

Callie didn't even look back down at her as she continued stroking her hair. "He will," Callie replied softly. "He must."

* * *

Upon returning to work, Callie was pleased to find that Arachnus saved the work of embellishing the ballroom jacket just for her. It was hanging on the dress form, constructed almost in its entirety, though not yet attached to the lining and facings, which were hung up separately. He provided her with lengths of cording and bowls of stones and set crystals that caught the light upon their multi-faceted surfaces. She was given no directions, except to add the embellishments to the jacket shell, giving her license to be as creative as she wished so long as the end result was elegant and fit for a King. She couldn't have hoped for a better welcome upon her return.

"I'm going into town today to buy more supplies," Arachnus told her after assigning her work for the day, "I'll take a look at your progress when I get back."

After he left, Callie started with the cording, pinning it in twisting, curling patterns from the center back of the jacket, over the shoulder, and down the front. She did the same with the sleeve, pinning the cording around the cuff, slithering up the forearm in long, satiny tendrils. She absorbed herself in her work, losing track of the minutes, the hours, watching the patterns blossom into beautiful shapes mimicking nature's own exquisite geometry. Besides her time with Artemisia, she exclusively found meaning in moments like this, her life no longer just a small, empty thing, but a force contributing something of beauty and value to the insular world she lived in. It didn't matter that it was all for the King, it didn't matter that she received no public recognition. People would still see the fruits of her labor, something that sprang from her very own mind and hands, and marvel at its loveliness.

She was so caught up in her work, so distracted by the emerging patterns that she didn't even hear anyone come in. It wasn't until a voice shattered the sacred hush of her workspace that she knew she wasn't alone.

"It's been a while, Callie."

Her heart sank and she flinched at his words as she spun around to see him leaning against the doorframe. His lips were curled in that same mocking smirk, his mismatched eyes looking at her under hooded lids. He wore the jacket with the oak leaves, its high collar making his angular jawline appear even sharper. Callie's heart raced. She had hoped that he would forget about her. She had thought that as long as Arachnus didn't send her to attend to his fittings, she would hardly ever see him. He always wanted people to come to him, to be _summoned_ before they entered his presence. She hadn't even considered that he might go out of his way to seek her out. Worst still, he must have known she was coming back to the atelier that day and that she would be alone.

He approached her slowly and she immediately fell back, but instead of continuing toward her, he stopped before the dress form, examining the jacket hanging upon it.

"Very nice," he commented, lifting the sleeve, "You always do such lovely work."

"Thank you," she replied so softly, it was barely perceptible.

Upon hearing her voice, he dropped the sleeve, flashing his eyes toward her.

"You've been avoiding me," he accused, his voice teetering on a dark edge.

"I've been injured," Callie countered, keeping her eyes pinned to the floor.

"So I heard," he replied, continuing toward her. She receded back until she felt the cutting table digging into her back. There was never enough space in a room once he entered it.

He stopped in front of her, extending out his hand. "May I see it?" he asked.

Reluctantly, Callie turned over the palm of her right hand, which was now puckered and completely scabbed. He took her hand in his and scanned his eyes over the healing wound.

"Looks like a clean cut," he observed, "Hopefully it won't scar such a lovely hand."

He lifted her hand up and pressed a kiss upon her palm. Callie's face twisted with discomfort as she pulled her hand away, hiding it behind her back.

He regarded her curiously, tilting his head to the side. "Why are you so cold to me, Callie?" he asked, sounding almost hurt.

Her eyes darted up at him incredulously. Was attempted rape not reason enough to be cold to someone?

As if reading her mind, he continued. "Oh, I know I was a little rough with you last time. I do apologize for that. I don't know what came over me." He reached out and ran the back of his hand down her cheek, inducing a cringe. "But have I not been generous as well?"

"Generous?" she questioned, meeting his gaze skeptically.

"I gave you that music box," he reminded her, "I provided you with that lovely room, I even let you use my fabric remnants to make your pretty dresses. Isn't that generous?"

Callie lowered her gaze again. She nodded her head slowly, hoping it would pacify him to simply agree.

But instead, the smile left his face and his voice dropped down an octave. "Then perhaps a little _gratitude_ is in order."

Panic seized her once again as his arm snaked around her waist and he leaned in toward her face. She inhaled sharply, twisting her head to the side, but he ran his other hand up through her hair, sweeping it away from her neck where he pressed his lips instead. The cutting table dug painfully into her as she feebly attempted to distance herself from him, only to have him push harder against her still. Her hand scrambled blindly across the surface of the table as she felt his lips brushing over her jawline. Finally she touched upon something cold and metal: the fabric shears. Her fingers curled around them, locking them in her grip, itching to plunge them into his back. But then his own hand curled over top of hers, and he raised his head to meet her gaze.

"You don't like me, Callie," he said.

She didn't respond.

"I'm not surprised," he told her, "Your mother didn't like me either."

A tiny flame indignation sparked up within her. "I'm not my mother!" Callie snapped, "I'm nothing like her. I only look like her."

"Oh no, precious" he sneered, twisting the shears out of her grip and tossing them to the ground. "You're _exactly_ like her. You think you can hide it behind all your pretty curtsies and soft-spoken words, but I can see it all the same. The way you move, the way you speak, the way look at me. You're the spitting image of your mother"

Callie was silent again, feeling only agitation at his words. Perhaps he was right. The King had known her mother in a way that she never could, and she was only a child the last time she saw her. But regardless of whatever mannerisms they shared in common, she wasn't enough like her in the ways that really mattered. She lacked her bravery, her strength of will, her power. For that reason, any comparison to her mother stung her like a painful barb, reminding her of all the numerous ways she fell short.

"Would you like to see her, Callie?" he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Her eyes shot up, wide with bewilderment.

He waved his hand through the air, conjuring a crystal that rolled up his wrist onto his fingertips.

"I could show her to you," he told her, his voice suddenly full of promise.

Callie fixed her gaze on the crystal, contemplating his offer. It had been so long… She wondered was she looked like. Was her face beginning to crease with laugh lines? Did she have strands of silver now threading her dark hair? Were her eyes still the same shade of green she remembered? She had laid awake so many nights trying to hold the image of her in her mind as the last remaining anchor to the world she left behind. If only she could see what she looked like.

But the King's generosity came at a price and the debt was adding up. What token of gratitude would he expect in return for a fleeting glimpse upon her mother's face? She shifted her eyes from the crystal to the King, a stoney expression upon her face.

"What's the point of seeing something you can't have?" she asked.

It must have been a question he asked himself a thousand times. His lip twitched as his smile was slowly replaced by a dangerous glower, his fist closing around the crystal until it shattered in his palm. Before she could even register what was happening, her back was slammed down against the table's surface, his hand around her throat, his face so close she could feel his deadly utterances upon her cheek.

"That's another way you're like your mother," he hissed, "You do so love to _test_ me, don't you?"

Callie flailed desperately, feeling the pressure baring down on her trachea, her feet no longer touching the ground. She kicked her legs blindly, coughing, her eyes watering from fear and suffocation. At first she thought he would strangle her, pressing down until he closed her throat completely, but he just held his hand firmly in place.

"Perhaps you just prefer it when I'm rough," he breathed against her hair.

He savored her state of panic, feeling the tendons straining in her reed-like neck. She held very still. Even as she felt him run a gloved hand up under her skirts along her thigh, she grimaced and closed her eyes, but did not move.

She was so consumed in the terror of the moment that she hadn't even noticed the presence of anyone else. But when she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, the King immediately released her, leaving her to brace herself against the table as her feet tentatively found the floor again. Looking towards the door, she saw Arachnus standing at the threshold, one pair of arms carrying the bags of supplies, the other pair crossed. He regarded them silently, wearing an expression that made him look almost more fearsome than he already was.

"May I help you, Your Majesty?" he finally asked after a long pause.

The King flashed a smile at him. "I was just stopping by to see how Callie was getting along after her injury," he replied.

Another long pause.

"I see," said Arachnus. "Well, she has quite a lot of work to catch up on after her absence. Perhaps you should come back another time."

"Yes, of course," the King replied. He turned toward Callie, grinning as if they had just come out of a pleasant conversation.

"I'm glad to see that you're feeling better," he told her, "I look forward to seeing the final result once you're finished with the jacket."

She nodded at him, but said nothing, still leaning against the table's edge for support.

Then he left the room, walking past Arachnus who just barely made enough space for him to get by. Once it was just the two of them alone, Arachnus uncrossed his arms and carried the bags over to the table, removing their contents one by one. Callie didn't move. She stood frozen, completely overwhelmed by the shame of being caught in such a position with the King. Was he angry with her? Disappointed? She glanced over to check his expression, only to find him now standing by the dress form, inspecting her work.

"This looks very nice," Arachnus told her, "Very elegant. Just make sure everything is symmetrical before you begin sewing it on."

"Of course," Callie said hoarsely. She pushed herself away from the table and approached the dress form. Picking up the cording, she began to resume her work on the embellishment.

"One more thing, Callie," Arachnus said.

She stopped and turned to look at him.

"Next time I go into town," he told her, "please make sure the door is locked."

* * *

Dusk had fallen and Artemisia was sitting on the bed, trimming her fingernails when Callie burst through the door. She didn't say anything, but Artemisia could tell by the feral look in her eyes exactly what she wanted. Before she could utter so much as a "hello", Callie was in her lap, kissing her feverishly, pulling up her shirt so she could run her hands over her torso. Artemisia was taken aback by the intensity of the sudden affection, but went along with it, undoing Callie's skirt, slipping off her blouse, kissing the swell of her bosom as it strained against the gussets of her corsetry. Callie's breathing came heavy as she raked her nails lightly down Artemisia's back.

"Dominate me," she whispered into Artemisia's ear, "Make me yours." She bit down on her earlobe.

Artemisia didn't need to be told twice. She threw Callie down to her knees on the bed and unhooked her corset busk from behind, pushing up her chemise as she gathered her breasts into hands. Callie arched her back against Artemisia, pulling her chemise the rest of the way off, leaving herself bare to the mercy of her touch. She wanted only to surrender herself completely. She wanted to gather up all of the darkness, all of the deep, ugly woundedness within herself and purify it in a white-hot fire.

Taking a fistful of Callie's hair, Artemisia yanked her head back, sinking her teeth into her neck, eliciting a small cry from her lips. Callie savored the momentary pain as she felt Artemisia's free hand slide down between her legs and begin stroking the slickness pooling within.

"Go inside," Callie whispered.

Artemisia hesitated. Even as their intimate encounters became somewhat of a regular occurrence, she had never attempted to penetrate Callie. She was too worried about hurting her, and she knew she could get the job done well enough by more external means.

"Are you sure?" Artemisia asked.

"Yes," Callie replied, turning herself around to lay on her back. She reached up and pulled Artemisia into a kiss as she positioned her hand against her entrance. "I want to feel you inside me," she breathed.

Artemisia acquiesced, slipping a finger into her slowly, scanning her face for any sign of discomfort. But Callie only sighed, arching her back as she opened herself a little more to accommodate her.

"Keep going," she whispered, and Artemisia kept going. It felt strange at first, a little different from the direct intensity of their usual methods, but there was still a pleasantness to the friction and pressure baring down from within. Artemisia lowered her head and placed her mouth at Callie's nipple, now pressing into her deeper, quickening her speed as she raised a hand to her throat. That's when Callie felt it building, the excruciating ferocity of it, burning her up from within. It was so overwhelming, so all-encompassing that she felt like she was falling into an oblivion of her own making. When she hit her precipice, she almost didn't come back down, the waves hitting her again and again like she had swam too far out into the ocean and couldn't get back. When she finally landed on the shore of her senses, it was only in a state of delirium, choking on half-sobs and trembling.

Artemisia gathered her into her arms and brushed her hair away from her sweat-dampened forehead. "Callie," she whispered softly, "Did I hurt you?"

Callie gazed up at her through heavy-lidded eyes and smiled. "No," she replied, pulling herself up slowly. She ran her hands up Artemisia's thighs and kissed her deeply, as she pressed against her. Her hands continued up until they were fiddling with the binding wrapped beneath her shirt, loosening the ends and carefully unwinding it.

"What are you doing?" Artemisia chuckled.

"Freeing you," Callie replied, pulling the last of the binding away and slipping off her shirt.

She stopped and admired Artemisia's breasts, which were dusky and heavy at the bottom, like little brown doves. Leaning down, she took them into her mouth, one at a time, running her tongue over their peaks until Artemisia was arching her back and swearing under her breath. Then she kissed her again, pressing herself more fully against her body.

"Come to the edge of the bed," she whispered.

Artemisia obeyed, moving herself over to the edge of the bed until her legs hung over. Then Callie kneeled in front of her, undoing her belt, and peeling her trousers away from her thighs.

"Callie," Artemisia objected, "You don't have to do it like this."

But Callie just smiled up at her tenderly, kissing the fleshy, soft insides of her thighs.

"You're the only one I'm happy to kneel before," she said, leaning in and placing her mouth at her dewy center.

Artemisia swore again, throwing her head back, running her hands through Callie's locks. She had given such favors to several women in the past, but Callie was one of the few who liked to give them back. For many of her past lovers, Artemisia's masculine disposition was a draw, but her physical femininity was an obstacle, something they would close their eyes and imagine away in the heat of their lovemaking. "If only your were a man," she would often hear. She could please them well enough, but she knew they had ambitions for marriage and children that she could never fulfill. Callie, on the other hand, wanted all of her: her muscular arms, her heavy breasts, her boyish charm, her gentle voice. There was no part of her that Callie ever rejected.

Callie pulled her closer as she climaxed, holding her in until the intensity of the sensation forced Artemisia to push her away. Artemisia collapsed back, catching her breath as Callie climbed on top of her, laying her head in the crook of her neck. Artemisia stroked her hair absent-mindedly, closing her eyes as she felt the flutter of her heartbeat against her like a little bird.

"I love you, Artemis," Callie said in almost a whisper.

Artemisia's hand stilled, and her eyes flew open. Slowly, she sat up, still cradling Callie's head against her chest.

"Callie," she replied softly, "There's something I need to tell you."

Callie pulled her head away and fixed her eyes to the floor.

"Alas," she said with a weak chuckle, "I must have spoken too soon…" Her voice bordered at the edge of heartbreak.

"No, Callie, that isn't it!" Artemisia assured her, taking hold of both her hands, "I feel the same. I've felt the same thing for a long time now. But there is something important that you need to know…"

Callie turned back to her, concern etched into her expression.

"What is it?"

 **A/N: Lesbian smut? In MY _Labyrinth_ fan fiction? It's more likely than you'd think.**


	6. The Exile

**The Exile**

Artemisia tapped her foot nervously as she struggled to find the words to tell Callie. There really was no easy way to say it. There was no way the news could be anything but completely devastating, but she had to tell her. She had the right to know.

"That day I spoke with the King in his chambers, he told me something that's important for you to know," she began, wringing her hands in her lap.

Callie regarded her apprehensively. "What did he tell you?" she asked shakily.

"He told me… he told me that he plans on getting married soon," Artemisia replied, "And that he has already chosen a wife. But the woman he has chosen... it's… It's you, Callie. He wants to marry you."

At first Callie thought Artemisia must have been joking to ease the tension of the moment, but no smile touched her lips, no light glinted in her eyes. Her face was completely serious, devoid of all humor or levity. All the air seemed to escape Callie's lungs as the impact hit her. She looked at Artemisia in a wide-eyed state of shock as the blood drained from her face.

"But…" she whispered, shaking her head slowly, "But I'm no one… I'm a seamstress. A slave."

"You're the Champions daughter," Artemisia pointed out glumly.

"And he hates me for it!" Callie snapped, "He's always hated me for it!"

She stood up, wrapping her arms around herself and turning away. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

"I don't understand it either," Artemisia said solemnly, "I've tried to reason with him. I've tried to talk him out of it, but he seems pretty…determined."

At that, Callie spun around to face her. "And you've known this for two weeks and haven't bothered to say anything?" her voice was shaking.

Artemisia's head dropped as she felt the guilt hit her in the gut. "I wasn't sure how to tell you," she admitted softly.

"We spent all that time together! You knew this the whole time, but you never told me!" Callie was in hysterics now, nearing the point of tears, "This is my _life_ , Artemis! My life that he has already stolen so much of and now… now he wants more? My God… his _wife_!"

She buried her face in her hands and began weeping, the sobs wracking her body so violently she could hardly stay standing. Artemisia rushed over to her and pulled her into her arms, squeezing her so tightly as if to keep her from shattering. When her legs finally gave out beneath her, they both sunk to the floor, Callie's sobs coming in pained hiccups between shrieking breaths. She couldn't bear it. The thought of being eternally tied to a man who took such pleasure in abusing her, the thought of being forever separated from the only person in the Underground she ever loved. She had endured so much already in her life, but how could she possibly endure this?

Artemisia cradled her, stroking her tear-soaked face. "Shh, Callie, I'm here… I'm here," she soothed. She felt like a hot, iron ball had been lodged within her chest and was burning a hole through her heart. Never before had she felt so helpless, so completely useless. For all her willingness, there was no consolation she could give other than holding her while the anguish and despair ran its course.

Eventually, all the tears drained out of her, and the sobs came only in gentle, soundless hiccups. Artemisia grabbed her shirt from off the floor and wiped Callie's face and nose. Callie only stared out into space with her red, swollen eyes, expressionless and silent. When she finally spoke, it was as if she had stumbled upon a sudden epiphany.

"I can't stay here any longer," she said, "I have to leave."

Artemisia looked at her, grasping the meaning behind her words. Callie pulled herself up and let her head fall forward, her hair forming a veil around her face.

"I thought that if I only kept my head low and did as I was told, everything would be alright. I thought that, in spite of everything, I could still somehow build a life here and at the very least, be content, maybe even happy. But…" she hesitated before continuing. "But now I see how impossibly foolish that was. I cannot surrender my freedom and hope to be safe from the one who took it. So long as I allow him to wield complete control over my life, I will only ever be at his mercy."

Artemisia absorbed her words, sensing the truth in them. When she left her own kingdom to serve in the Underground, she thought she was freeing herself. No more would those around her try to force her into subservience to a husband or the Church. No more would she have to constantly prove that she was a force to be reckoned with and not a weakling to belittle and control. No more would she be condemned as "unnatural" for indulging her hidden proclivities for the fairer sex. She could not have imagined a greater freedom than that. But of course, it all came at the cost of another submission: swearing loyalty to the King, promising to exchange her life for his if it ever came down to it. A fair exchange it seemed at first, before she knew Calliope, before she knew that there were other lives that meant more to her than the King's or her own. It was one thing to swear away her own life to the King, but not Callie's. Callie's she would guard at all costs.

"We will find a way out," Artemisia promised her.

Callie inclined her head back up towards her.

"I don't know how, but we will," she swore, "I won't stand by and let him do this to you."

Callie smiled at her weakly. "Because you care about me?" she murmured.

"No, Callie," Artemisia answered, "Because I love you, too."

* * *

The next several days dragged as Calliope walked on eggshells, apprehensive of any chance she might have another run-in with the King. If he came to her work, would he come to her room? Would he follow her down the laundry? These questions brought about a state of paranoia she couldn't easily shake off, always checking over her shoulder and jumping at the slightest sound. The fact that she now knew his intentions for her only made it worse. It kept her up at night, remembering her last couple encounters with him, haunted by the looming thought that such might become a daily occurrence for her. She would push those thoughts away, telling herself that she won't let it happen, that Artemisia won't let it happen, but there alway lingered a little bit of doubt.

One morning as Callie entered the atelier, she was surprised to find Arachnus already there fully engaged in his work. But what was more surprising than his early arrival was his task at hand. He was working at a female-bodied dress form, pinning panels of muslin against its contours to produce what looked like the beginnings of a fitted bodice. The moment she walked in, he directed her attention to the larger, marked pieces of muslin laying out across the cutting table.

"I need you to true up those panels and sew them into a toile for the petticoat so I can drape the skirt," he instructed, "Make the seam allowances 1 inch at the side seams, 2 inches at the hem, and 1/2 inch everywhere else."

"Who is this for?" Callie asked in confusion. They worked almost exclusively on orders put in by the King who, even in all his extravagance, did not have a taste for women's clothing.

Arachnus shrugged. "The King gave me the measurements and put in the order last night," he grumbled, "I can tell you it's not for _him_."

Callie looked at the list of measurements sitting on the table next to the panels. _Height: 5'5 bust: 34 inches, waist: 28 inches, hip: 38 1/2 inches._ Her throat tightened realizing that she had seen those numbers a dozen times before. The measurements were identical to her own.

"There," Arachnus said, cutting away the excess fabric from the bodice seams on the dress form. "When you're finished with the toile for the petticoat, you can mark the pins on the bodice and do the same for it as well."

He yawned and stretched out all four of his arms, leaning back so far, popping could be heard from his spine. Then he lifted off the completed ballroom jacket off the rack and headed for the door.

"I'll be back after I deliver this to the King," he informed her, "Don't dally with the toile. This is a rush order. I was up all night working on the design." Then he closed the door as he left.

His departing words rang in her ears. A rush order. For a gown. Exactly her size. She didn't want to jump to conclusions, but what else could she think after what Artemisia told her? There were no ladies visiting from other kingdoms and if there were any other women around the castle her same size and stature, she'd never encountered them. She wouldn't put it past the King to add insult to injury by forcing her to wear a wedding gown of her own making.

 _But that won't happen,_ she told herself, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, T _here may be a wedding gown, but there will be no bride to wear it. We will just have to move faster._

* * *

The King was already in a foul mood that day when he received a knock on his door. His Captain had informed him that there was another riot outside his gates, and that she and her men were forced to arrest dozens of the protesters. Apparently, even with the tax cuts, the price of fruit had inflated due to the amount the palace kitchen staff had ordered in preparation for the ball. So naturally, the disgruntled populace pinned the blame on him.

"Throw them all into an Oubliette until I can see to it that each one of them is publicly flogged," he commanded. His Captain had received his orders grimly, but he knew she would see that it was done.

"Come in," he answered to the knock in an irritable tone. The door opened to reveal the grotesque apparition of his tailor, carrying his jacket on a hanger.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," he greeted in a cheerful tone that only grated the King's nerves.

The King scowled at him. "Arachnus," he intoned, "Is Calliope injured again?"

"No, Your Majesty," Arachnus answered, "She's doing very well."

"Then why are you here instead of her?" he snapped.

Arachnus was speechless for a moment, surprised to find himself so suddenly the target of the King's ire. "Your Majesty, you didn't specify…"

"Did I not?" the King interrupted, "Before Callie's injury, did I not specifically say that I wished for _her_ to deliver my garments from now on?"

Arachnus paused again. "I apologize, Majesty, but with the new order, I've had to keep her very busy."

"I don't want your excuses," he growled, " _You_ are the master tailor, are you not? What can she do that you can't do twice as fast? If anything, it should be a _preferable_ to send her out on deliveries so that you can continue to work. It's certainly more preferable for me to look upon fairer faces than your own."

"I understand," Arachnus replied sullenly, "But, Majesty, if I may speak frankly…"

The King's eyes narrowed slightly. "Go on…" he said.

"When Callie was a child, you put her under my charge and protection," Arachnus reminded him, "It is a duty that I have always regarded with the utmost seriousness. I know it is not my place to contradict you, but I question the propriety of a young lady such as Callie being alone with you or any other man. Especially since she is already spoken for."

The King shifted slightly in his seat and leaned forward. "Spoken for?" he questioned, "By whom?"

"Why, that soldier," Arachnus answered, "What's her name? Artisma."

"Artemisia?" the King suggested.

"That's the one," Arachnus said, "They've been courting for quite a while now. Out of consideration to the soldier, I am loathe to send Callie into men's bedrooms alone."

The King was silent a moment, considering what he had just been told. When he finally spoke again, a smile was playing upon his lips. "It would indeed be improper for Callie to spend time in another's bedroom when she has already been spoken for," he affirmed, "We will have to come to some other arrangement."

Arachnus smiled. "Thank you for understanding, Your Majesty," he said with a bow.

He went to the closet and hung up the jacket, before bowing again and stepping out.

The King leaned back in his chair, chuckling softly to himself. Well, well, now it all made sense. Callie's frigidity. Artemisia's sudden interest in his romantic pursuits. He hadn't put the two together, but why would he? While Artemisia's appetites were certainly known to him, Callie just didn't seem the type. The Champion's sweet, innocent, soft-spoken daughter: a practicing tribade. It was an amusing thought, and not an altogether unpleasant thing to imagine, but he would have to put a stop to it, wouldn't he? Such a pretty little thing shouldn't be wasted on an impotent Sapphist. At least he had other means of persuading her now.

* * *

The whole place stank of mold and raw sewage. It was so small and narrow, Artemisia could barely stand and the lack of light would have made if difficult for her to navigate her way had she not carried a torch. When she found him, he was laying on the small bed, so beaten and bruised, it distorted his grotesque features even more than seemed possible. He coughed and laughed bitterly when he saw her.

"Have you come to take me to the scaffold, then?" he asked, sounding almost hopeful.

Artemisia gazed down at him, keeping her face emotionless and unreadable. In truth, it pained her to see the resulting misery of the orders she had carried out.

"No," she answered. "His Majesty has not yet determined the method of execution."

"Pity," the creature spat, rolling over on the bed and turning his back to her.

"I did not come here on His Majesty's behalf," she told him.

"Then, pray, leave me be," he replied, "If you haven't come to deliver my death, then at least allow me to dream of it."

"I come because I think you are the only one able to help me," she continued.

He laughed bitterly again, turning his head to scowl at her over his shoulder. " _Help_ you?" he mocked, "Why would I want to _help_ the King's head bitch?"

"You wouldn't," Artemisia replied, "But I'm trying to help someone else in turn. You are aware of the fact that His Majesty keeps the Champion's daughter in his castle?"

He paused a moment before replying. "Ay…"

"And you are an admirer of hers, the Champion?"

"Ay, we all are," he affirmed, "The only mortal who ever gave the King what was coming to him."

Artemisia shoved the torch into the sconce on the wall and crossed her arms. "I have recently been informed that His Majesty intends to take her daughter to wife."

He laughed again, this time with more spirit, and rolled over to face her. "What a clever boy," he crooned, "Thinks he can win back his people by marrying their sweetheart, does he?"

Artemisia hesitated a moment before continuing, "As you can imagine," she said, "The Champion's daughter is not so keen on marrying him."

"Good to know she isn't a fool," he commented.

"She needs a way out," Artemisia continued, "A way to escape the King before it's too late."

Now the goblin was sitting up slowly, meeting her gaze. "And what's in it for you to help this girl?" he asked, "Why would you go behind your precious King's back and ask a criminal to help you steal his bride away?"

Artemisia didn't answer, her face unmoving. But that was answer enough for him, and he burst out laughing again, so long and so loud this time that the sound echoed throughout the entire chamber.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?" he teased, "That's the only reason you humans ever do anything so stupid."

Artemisia ignored the question. "Will you help us or not?" she demanded, not willing to entertain his mockery.

"Oh, I'll help you!" he told her, still chuckling. "Nothing would bring me more joy than to see the King humiliated by a mortal once more. And besides, what do _I_ have to lose? I'm already sentenced to die. _You_ , however…" He looked Artemisia over, "You are walking on thin ice, aren't you?"

Artemisia drew closer to him, kneeling down so she could speak in a hushed voice. "Yes," she hissed, "So tell me everything you know."

* * *

"He said that we should seek out The Exile," Artemisia told Callie, sprawled out across her lap as Callie kneaded the stiff muscles in her back with her thumbs. "Nobody knows his exact location, but he's rumored to be hiding in the Forest of the Fieries."

"Who is The Exile?" Callie asked.

"One of the goblins who helped your mother when she was navigating the labyrinth," Artemisia answered. "He was originally intended to sabotage her under the orders of the King, but after befriending her, he decided to help her instead. Naturally, the King didn't take too kindly to that."

"And that's why he's in exile?" Callie inquired.

"No," Artemisia replied, "He's in exile so that he won't be executed. Had the Champion failed, his punishment would have been no more than a dip in the Bog. But she succeeded, so his betrayal was found to be nothing short of treasonous. The others that were with them… they were not so lucky as to escape into exile…"

Callie blanched at the thought of the King having several people put to death simply for helping her mother. It begged the question: what would he do to Artemisia if he found out she was helping her to escape?

"So why do we need to find this Exile?" she asked, pushing the thought aside.

"He is said to have kept in contact with your mother even after she returned Aboveground," Artemisia explained, "He might have even visited her. If anyone knows how to get you out of here, it's him."

Callie's hands stilled. Her mother had kept in contact with someone from the Underground? And been _visited_ by someone from the Underground? Then surely there was a way out _and_ a way back in. Why had she never come…?

"How do we find him?" Callie asked, her brows furrowing, digging her fingers deeper into a knot in Artemisia's back.

"Easy!' Artemisia said, hissing at the pain and Callie relented a little bit. "That's the hard part. We would have to somehow sneak your out of here undetected, then navigate the labyrinth ourselves to get into the forest. It would help if we had a map, but as you can imagine, there aren't many of those in circulation."

Callie's hands stopped and she leaned back, dropping her chin to her chest. "We may not have much time…" she said, "The King has put in a new order. A gown. On rush order."

Artemisia sat up. "A gown…?"

"Like a wedding gown, yes," Callie said. "The measurements are mine exactly… I don't know how he could have gotten them but…"

"And he's having you make it yourself," Artemisia stated angrily, "The goddamn nerve of that man… When does it need to be ready?"

"A couple weeks before Samhain," Callie answered despondently.

Artemisia's heart sank. "That really doesn't give us much time at all…" she muttered.

Callie didn't answer, feeling the doubt consume her once again. If they tried and failed, the results would be the same for her as they would be if they hadn't tried at all. But for Artemisia… If the King killed those who helped her mother and drove one into hiding, she was certain he would not be merciful to Artemisia.

"Artemis…" Callie whispered, "Why are you doing this?"

Artemisia turned her head sharply. "What do you mean?" she asked, "I'm doing this because I don't want to see you marry a man you hate."

"But if he catches you…" Callie turned her face and Artemisia could see the fear written there. "He could have you killed, Artemis. I don't know if it's worth it to me to even risk it…"

Artemisia cupped her face in her hands and caught her eyes in a serious gaze. "Callie," she said, "Listen to me. I've already considered the risks. The King told me he was marrying you, and still I continued to see you. What do you think the punishment is for sleeping with the King's betrothed? But I don't think you understand how dire things will be for you if you choose to go through with it."

"What do you mean?" Callie asked in a whisper.

"How old do you think the King is?" Artemisia asked.

Callie shook her head at the question. "I don't know…" she answered, "If I were to guess, I'd say forty? Maybe fifty?"

"The King has been here since before Christ walked the Earth," Artemisia told her.

Callie's eyes grew wide. "Impossible…" she breathed.

"He's not like us," Artemisia continued. "He's an immortal. He is not subject to the laws of time and death the way we are. And anyone he marries… He will make sure the same holds true for her as well."

A horror spread over Callie's face. "You mean…"

"I mean," Artemisia interjected, "You will not just be married to him for a lifetime, but an eternity."

Callie's head felt like it was spinning. An eternity… with him… She felt like she was going to be sick.

"You will outlive me either way if we try and fail or if we don't try at all," Artemisia continued, "So we might as well take the risk."

* * *

Callie was still reeling as she stepped out into the hallway, the cool draft hitting her like a gust. As she stumbled in the direction of her room, she tried to collect her thoughts. The King was over two thousand-years-old. She couldn't even wrap her mind around it. That or marriage for eternity. So many couples Aboveground struggled just to make it to their 50th anniversary, even when marrying by choice under the best of circumstances. A good percentage split up long before that point, feeling only animosity and bitterness toward the one they once vowed to love until death. But with him, she already felt the animosity, the fear, the disgust. The thought of spending a lifetime, let alone an eternity yoked to him seemed unbearable. If it came down to it, and she was still not free by the day before the wedding, she would have to find herself a more permanent way out…

Darkness enveloped her as she entered her bedroom, and for a moment she just leaned against the door, imagining the sensation of oblivion. _Better this than an eternity with him,_ she told herself. She walked over to her nightstand and, striking a match, lit the oil lamp at her bedside. It wasn't until the taper caught fire that she finally noticed him out of the corner of her eye.

"Back so late, little mouse?"


	7. Conditions

**A/N: I must warn any readers that this chapter gets very dark and contains some disturbing elements.**

 **Conditions**

The scream escaped Callie's lips before she could even stop it, but just as quickly, his hand clapped over her mouth, muffling her cries and knocking her back into the wall. The base of her skull hit the stone with a sickening thud which only intensified her dizziness. With the lamp light shining behind him, his face was almost entirely masked in shadows, but she could still see the dangerous glint of mismatched eyes.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he growled, "Not unless you wish Artemisia to suffer for it."

Her cries stopped in her throat which had suddenly became so dry hardly any air could pass through. Her eyes grew wide, her entire body went rigid. Even in the shadows, she could make out his smile creasing the corners of his eyes as he read the fear on her body.

"Oh, you didn't think I knew about that, did you?" he mocked, "Do you think there is anything that goes on in this castle that I don't eventually find out about?"

He lifted his hand away from her mouth, but still she couldn't utter a word as she tried to swallow a lump that was forming in her throat. When she did finally find her voice, it came out hoarse and shaking.

"Please don't hurt her," was all she could muster. She didn't know how he could have found out. They had tried so hard to be discreet. His smile widened to a grin, and she could now see the light glinting off of his unusually sharp teeth.

"That entirely depends on you, Callie," he said, his face now hovering so close she could feel his breath on her. The proximity of his body suffocated her. Again, she couldn't will herself to move as the mind-numbing terror consumed her.

He pressed his mouth against hers, lightly grazing her bottom lip with his teeth before sliding his tongue inside. Inwardly she recoiled, but her body remained petrified, fearing that one false move would spell Artemisia's demise. She felt his hands slide up her waist, over her breasts, through her hair, and she shuddered, but still made no attempt to resist. When he broke the kiss with one final nip of her lower lip, she could feel the laughter reverberating in his chest.

"Good girl," her crooned, "I can see that this will go far smoother than I anticipated."

He slipped his hands out of her hair and stepped away, pacing across the room to regard her from a distance. With the space created between them, Callie felt herself relax slightly, but continued to watch him sharply in the amber light of the oil lamp.

He clasped his hands behind his back and held her in his gaze. "This is how things will go from now on," he stated resolutely. His shadow seemed to wrap around the entire room. "First: you will no longer meet with Artemisia in her room or anywhere else in secret. From this point on, you two will no longer be lovers." The words drove into Callie like a nail through flesh.

"Second: you will not fight or resist me in any way when I wish to touch you. You will acknowledge that as your _King,"_ he put a hard emphasis on the word, "I can do with you however I see fit." Her chest heaved as the world around her went blurry.

"Third," his lips curled into a smirk, "Starting tomorrow, you will spend all of your evenings with me in my chambers until I decide otherwise." A strangled sob broke from her lips, the tears loosening from her lashes as she squeezed her eyes shut tight.

"Do these things, and no harm shall befall Artemisia," he said with finality. There was no humor in his voice now, no smile upon his lips. He looked at her only with cruel, remorseless determination.

"I'm done playing this game with you," he said, striding back towards her. He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him. "I will no longer tolerate your defiance."

Callie's face twisted in anguish. "Why?" she rasped out, "Why are you doing this to me? What in my life have I ever done to hurt you?"

His eyes scanned her face, pitiless and unwavering. "It's not what you've done," he answered. "It's what you are."

He released her chin with a shove as he turned away from her, striding towards the door. He threw her one final glance as he opened it.

"I _will_ see you tomorrow, Callie, injured or not," he said, and the door closed behind him with a foreboding click.

* * *

She couldn't sleep the whole night and the hours of the day seemed to move too quickly as her fate drew closer to her like a sentence. She could hardly concentrate. She felt ill, exhausted, the ache in her heart becoming a physical pain knotted up in her chest. Arachnus gave her the pieces of the dress to assemble as he cut them from a mauve silk taffeta, but her hands shook so much she could hardly keep her lines straight as she fed them through the machine. The closer the dress got to becoming one piece, the closer she felt to her own damnation. An eternity. With him. And it starts tonight.

Callie barely noticed when Arachnus's treadle came to a stop and he leaned back, stretching his arms with a yawn. She had spent the whole day trying not to look at the clock, knowing that every hour closer to evening would send her into a panic. It was only when he stood up and said her name that she realized the time.

"That's enough, Callie," he said, "Let's call it a day."

The sun was dipping low in the sky by the time she got back to her room. She didn't bother to go down to the kitchens to get her dinner; her stomach was too tied up in knots to take in a single morsel. She sat down on her bed and tried to steel her nerves, tried to beat back all the eminent shame and disgrace that this night would bring. She tried to tell herself that whatever her did, he could only do it to her body, but her soul was too deeply rooted in her body for such a thing to be true. If a mere touch could bring such lightness and peace to her soul, then surely it could bring devastation as well.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the music box sitting on her night stand. She glanced at it sidelong, disdainfully, feeling a bubble of rage rising up in her. When it finally surfaced, she snatched the music box off the table and threw it across the room, watching it shatter against the wall. Its dark-haired dancer fell to the floor, still attached to the platform as it rolled away, stopping inches away from her feet. She stared down at the doll's miniature face, imagining it to be her mother's.

"This is your fault," she rasped in a whisper, "Why did you never come for me?" A swell of sorrow clambered up after the rage, but she fought it back, resolving herself to stoicism in the face of what was to come.

Soon she heard a knock on the door, and she answered it to find young woman standing at her threshold dressed in a chambermaid's uniform. She could have almost passed for human, but her limbs were too slender and willowy, her face too angular, her eyes too inky black. She curtsied to Callie in greeting.

"Good evening, Daughter of the Champion," she said, "I am here to escort you to His Majesty's chambers.

Callie said nothing, only nodded and stepped out into the hall to follow her. She followed her through a series of corridors until they came to a pair of large doors, guarded on each side by two rather imposing goblins wearing the same armor she had always seen Artemisia wear. They nodded at the chambermaid without a word and allowed them both to pass through. From there, she lead Callie into a small antechamber. The curtains were drawn over the large windows, and it was lit by a small chandelier that scattered fractured rainbows throughout the room. There was a vanity framed by a large, three-paneled mirror, all laid out with combs, hair pins, brushes, perfumes, and a pile of freshly-cut flowers. Hanging like a phantom from the hook right next to it was a long nightgown, cut on the bias from heavy, indigo silk.

It wasn't until the chambermaid came up behind her and started unbuttoning her dress that Callie realized it was for her. The combs, the perfumes, the pins, the flowers: they were all for her. She tried to keep her breathing steady as the chambermaid pulled off her dress and the reality of her situation began sinking in. Each layer she pulled away felt like a layer of skin sloughing off until she finally pulled off her shift, and Callie recoiled at the sight of her own nakedness in the mirror. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned away, feeling only disgust at the sight of her bare flesh. The chambermaid slipped the nightgown over her head, and it draped down her body like rippling water. Then she pulled a matching dressing gown off the hanger and slipped it over her shoulders. The silk felt soft and cool against her skin, and for a moment, Callie almost found it comforting.

The chambermaid had her sit at the vanity and began on her hair, combing it, twisting it, pinning it up around her head in an elaborate arrangement. Callie never said a word through the whole process as she wrestled with her nerves, reminding herself over and over that if she could only endure, Artemisia would be safe. She focused on numbing herself, hiding herself somewhere so deep inside, he wouldn't be able to reach her, not matter how he tried.

The chambermaid finished up her hair by cutting a few flowers from their stems and pinning them into her coif. Finally, she took a vile of perfume and dabbed a drop behind her ears. She stood Callie up and took a step back to look over her work. Then she lead Callie over to a door at the far end of the room and knocked.

Callie's heart leapt into her throat the moment she heard his voice: "Come in."

She opened the door, and Callie stepped through. As soon as she reached the other side of the threshold, she stopped, feeling the draft as the door closed behind her. She held her gaze to the floor, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to see his eyes as he looked at her. Her heart beat faster than the moments could pass.

"Well, you do clean up nicely," she heard him say, "Come closer so I can get a better look at you."

Callie's eyes darted up briefly to see him standing in the center of the room. He wasn't dressed in all his finery now, just a simple linen shirt that hung open and a pair of black trousers. The costume was gone. It was just him in his truest form now.

Her feet felt like lead as she stepped toward him, slowly, willing herself with each footfall. She kept her eyes down as she approached him, knowing it would be easier if she didn't see him as she drew nearer. When she finally got close enough, his hand shot out, snatching her arm, pulling her the rest of the way there. She gasped sharply at the sudden contact. The moment he touched her, it was all undone: all her resolve, all her bravery, all her stoicism. It all began to fall to pieces. He cupped her face almost gently and tilted it up, forcing her to look at him, but she immediately closed her eyes, attempting to maintain at least the illusion of safety.

"Look at me," he demanded.

Slowly she obeyed, opening her eyes and lifting her gaze to meet his. What she saw there… It wasn't contempt, it wasn't even lust, it was so, so much worse. A hand moved to the back of her neck, the other to the small of her back, and he pulled her in closer, lowering his head to the crook of her neck, inhaling her perfumed scent like a beast smelling its prey. Then he circled behind her, his hand sliding from the small of her back to her belly to the jutting bone of her hip. His other hand cupped her jaw delicately as he kissed her neck in some perverse imitation of romance.

Callie was certain he could feel her heart beating wildly and her body trembling from her concerted effort to hold back the tears as long as possible. She knew they would break through eventually, but she couldn't let it happen so soon. She urged herself to cling tightly to every shred of dignity she had left.

"I can't say I blame Artemisia," he whispered against her ear, "She always did have such fine taste."

His hands trailed up to her shoulders and squeezed them tightly.

"And I understand now that I am probably not to _your_ tastes…"

His hands took hold of her night clothes and began to pull them down off her shoulders. A shuddering whimper escaped her, and she brought her hands up to clutch her meager coverings, but he wrestled them away from her, down her body, falling to a pool at her feet. Cold dread coiled in her stomach as the air hit her skin, and she caught a glimpse of her pale vulnerability in the mirror across the room. It was then that the tears broke loose.

"But, oh Callie," His eyes drank in her image in the mirror, "You certainly are to _mine_."

His arm hooked under her knees and he lifted her up, carrying her over to the bed where he laid her down gently. She was terrified out of her senses now as his shadow fell over her and she felt the bed shift under his weight. He brought a hand up to her face, wiping away a tear in mock tenderness.

"Tears already, my love?" he said, "Why, we haven't even begun."

And then he began. He worked over her slowly, savoring, knowing that this time she would not fight him as she laid there deathly still, wrestling with the revulsion that writhed under her skin. She kept her eyes fixed upon some distant object, clinging to it like an anchor by which she might pull herself from the depths. By sheer will alone she tried to separate herself from her body like yolk from the white, but she could still feel everything: the hands, the tongue, the shame, the base humiliation.

She told herself that she would not make a sound, but when he came to bear down on her, the cry left her throat so fast she couldn't stop it, the sobs following after. It hurt so much more than she ever could have anticipated, and he just kept going. She brought her hands up to cover her face, but he snatched them away, wishing to watch her in her anguish. It seemed to be her pain that pleased him above all else.

She couldn't say how long it lasted, maybe ten minutes or ten hours, but even when he finished he wouldn't let her leave. He fell asleep next to her in the bed, arm slung across her waist as she curled in on herself and wept.

He could have done it the night before. He had her cornered in her room all alone; no one would have stopped him. But she remembered what he had said about her mother: _No… That's not how it works. She had to come to me._ It all had to be done on his terms, never surrendering even a single inch. It wasn't enough to kick her into the grave; he had to make her dig it first.

Out of sheer exhaustion, she did eventually fall into an uneasy sleep, her dreams coming in wisps and fragments lacking any sense of wholeness or cohesion. It was the closest she would come to peace in the hours that followed.

She had hoped that she would at least have until the next evening to recover, but adding insult to injury, he did it again the next morning, turning her over and beginning without warning. In the morning light, she could see the flowers that the chambermaid had so painstakingly arranged in her hair now crushed and dead against the pillow. She could see the vibrant blues of the crumpled nightgown on the floor. She heard the birds singing outside and strained to listen to them over the sound of his obscene grunting.

After he finished, she just laid there, drained and lifeless, still listening to the birds. She could hear him moving around the room, dressing, putting on his boots. When she heard him open the door of the antechamber, she took the opportunity to snatch the nightgown off the floor and slip it back on. As she sat up, she saw the crimson stain on the sheets, felt the pooling between her thighs, and fought back the subsequent wave of nausea.

When he returned from the antechamber, he tossed her dress toward her.

"Here," he said, his eyes set with disdain, "You may leave now."

It was clearly not a request.

* * *

Artemisia had just gotten off the night shift, and was giving report to the next round of guards when she saw her. The evening had been rather uneventful. After all the arrests they had made at the last riot, the goblins were behaving themselves, biding their time to see what the punishment would be before they determined whether it was safe to continue their antics. She knew that a mere public flogging wouldn't be enough to dissuade them, but the goblin she had visited in the Oubliette was a known revolutionary who had long been wanted for treason before his arrest. What the King had in store for him was enough to make even her own stomach turn.

It was Spherran and Mopp who were up next in the rotation, and they stood at attention as she gave her orders, explaining which areas of the castle to watch with more careful vigilance and which were already well secured. As she was speaking, she saw a smirk suddenly cross Mopp's face as he gave a gentle nudge to Spherran, nodding at something directly behind her.

A spark of annoyance flared up in her, and she began to reprimand them: "I'm sorry, boys. Is there something more interesting behind m-" She turned her head and that's when she saw her.

She wore only a long slip of a nightgown that bared her naked shoulders and fluttered at her ankles as she stepped. Her dark hair was up in a disheveled arrangement from which pins and bruised flower petals fell in her wake. She held her dress bundled up in her arms and walked quickly, never looking up.

"Dismissed," Artemisia barked to her guardsmen, immediately leaving to rush after her.

"Callie!" she called, but Callie didn't answer, she didn't stop, if anything she seemed to move faster.

Artemisia began to jog to catch up with her, "Callie, wait!" She reached out and grabbed her shoulder, and only then did Callie stop. She turned her head slightly, but still didn't look up.

Artemisia could see the red marks on her neck, the bruises along her forearms like black fingerprints.

"Callie… what happened?" she asked. Callie's eyes flashed at her as if the very question were an insult and she immediately regretted asking it. She knew what had happened. She just wanted to know why, _how_? One day they were planning their escape, the next she's scurrying away from the King's bedroom in nothing but negligee, carrying her clothes in her arms. It just didn't make sense.

"He knows," Callie said, "He…" she swallowed a lump in her throat. "He says I'm not allowed to see you anymore."

Artemisia clenched her fists. "Callie…" she said, "did he…?"

"Must you ask?" Callie snapped, turning her face away. The tears were evident in her voice. A goblin walked by, and she saw it leering at her out of the corner of her eye, so she picked up her stride again.

Artemisia paced alongside her, struggling to find the words to say as her mind oscillated between guilt and fury and heartache. How dare he? How dare he treat her like that? Callie, who had served him without complaint. Callie, who had happily sewed his pretty clothes. Callie, who never asked for anything except scraps of fabric and a bed to sleep in. This was how he repaid her? And all under her watch… As she stood on guard to safeguard his life, he was with her, in his room, defiling her in his bed. If she had known, she would have stopped it. If she had known…

"Wait, Callie. Stop," Artemisia grabbed her hand and made her turn around. She took off her cloak and wrapped it around Callie's bare shoulders, shielding her from all the curious eyes of passers by. Callie's eyes remained downcast, but she held the cloak closed with one hand and thanked her softly.

"I swear to you," Artemisia whispered, "I will get you out of here."

"No," Callie answered firmly, "You will not. You will only die trying." Finally she her gaze lifted to reveal eyes brimming with tears.

"The only thing that could make last night infinitely worse is if it happened all in vain," she continued. "I will not watch you die in front of me. He will make it slow and painful and he will make me watch. There is a lot that I know how to endure. I can endure pain, I can endure debasement, but the one thing I cannot endure is losing someone else I love."

And with that, she turned and left. Artemisia watched her as she receded to the end of the corridor and turned the corner. She had trained so hard her entire life, mastering sword and bow and spear so that she would never have to feel this way. She had lived as a man, fought as a man, fucked as a man, swearing she would never know such helplessness, such utter, contemptible weakness. Who knew it could all be undone by a woman like her? She finally had freedom, respect, a position of authority, but without Callie, now it all seemed meaningless. Despite Callie's warning, she had to do as she swore. She could not pretend to be free so long as the King threatened her life and held her lover hostage. No, she would not stay. She would find the Exile and then she would take herself and Callie far, far away from this awful place.

* * *

Callie collapsed against the door as she reached her room, breaking down into tears once more. Her eyes were raw and her head throbbing from all the crying, but as she held Artemisia's cloak at her shoulders, an impending sense of loss come over her. She could smell her scent on it like a ghost, and she imagined it was her arms wrapped around her instead. At a time she needed her the most, she could not have her, and it was excruciating.

Soon her well of tears ran dry, and she just sat on the floor in a daze, staring out into empty space. She could still hear the birds singing outside. It took every ounce of strength in her, but she willed herself to stand up, shuffling over to the washroom. She turned on the water, and drew herself a bath, stripping away the loathsome nightgown. It was over, she reminded herself. The first night was over, and she had survived.


	8. The Unwanted

**A/N: This chapter will also contain rather dark content.**

 **The Unwanted**

He called her into his study to inform her of his decision regarding the revolutionary, and it took everything within her not lunge at him, not to grab her sword and take a swing at him. The nonchalant tone in his voice, the way he lounged in his chair as if nothing had happened, everything about his casual demeanor tested her self-restraint.

"I intend to ask a couple of redcaps to carry it out," he said, "That would be quite a treat for them, don't you think? Probably the week before Samhain. It will be public, of course. I fear I have been too lenient as of late and need to remind the people yet again who is in charge."

Artemisia could barely pay attention. She couldn't get that image of Callie out of her mind: her bruises, her disheveled hair, her scant covering. He had sent her out of his room like that, barely dressed, no doubt in an effort to publicly humiliate her, as if what he did to her hadn't been humiliation enough. And now he dared to speak to her so casually, as if he hadn't threatened her life, as if he hadn't fucked her lover. It wasn't any wonder that he could read the anger upon her countenance like words upon a page.

"Is there something you wish to say to me, Artemisia?" he asked out of the blue.

The question caught her off guard. "What?"

"You look distracted," he explained. "If there's something you wish to say, go ahead and say it."

She narrowed her eyes. He knew…

"The Champion's daughter," she said, "Calliope. She was with you last night."

He looked at her unblinkingly, his expression never changing. "Yes," he answered.

"Did you rape her?" Artemisia asked. She wasn't going to mince words with him now.

He smiled, which only served to infuriate her further. "'Rape' would imply she didn't have a choice," he replied. "I gave her a choice."

"And what exactly was her alternative?" Artemisia could feel her knuckles turning white beneath her gloves.

"Keep speaking to me that way, and you will soon find out," he said, his voice hinging on a dangerous edge.

Artemisia met his sharp gaze with her own "Why?" she asked, her voice now shaking. "Why did you do that to her?" There was no answer in the world that would have satisfied her, but she wanted to know his motivation. She wanted to know what drove monsters like him to hurt innocent girls like Callie.

He leaned back in his chair and rested his cheek against his palm, propping his elbow up on the armrest.

"I think a better question is: why did you see fit to turn your King into a cuckold?" He sounded bored, uninterested in the topic at hand. "May I remind you that you swore an oath of fealty to me?"

"Callie and I started seeing each other long before you staked your claim," she snapped.

"And yet you continued to see her even after," he pointed out, "Why?"

Artemisia didn't answer.

"Do you love her?" he asked.

Again, no answer.

A grin spread across his face. "Such a pity."

Artemisia's hand flew up and gripped the hilt of her sword before she could stop it. The smile dropped from his face, and he stood up slowly from his chair.

"Go ahead, Artemisia," he said, "Strike me down. Do you think that you're the first to try?"

She wanted to—oh, how she wanted to—but something told her that a two thousand-year-old King couldn't be brought down so easily by a mere blade. Callie's plea ran through her mind and she took a deep breath. If she got herself thrown into an Oubliette, she wouldn't be able to save herself, let alone anyone else. She had to get ahold of herself. As much as she wished to defend Callie's honor, it wasn't going to happen this way. Slowly, finger by finger, she released the hilt of her sword and dropped her hands by her side. He remained standing a moment, holding her gaze in his sharp eyes, before sinking back down to his chair.

"I can forgive your little outburst because I know you're upset," he told her, "And I can forgive your philandering because, as you so aptly put, you cannot sire a bastard. But had you been anyone else…" His voice trailed off leaving her to fill in the blanks.

Artemisia glowered at him silently.

"You have known my intentions for Calliope from the beginning," he continued, "Marriage and everything that goes along with it. None of this should come as any surprise to you."

"You have ladies from other kingdoms… princesses who have literally thrown themselves into your bed," Artemisia argued, "Why her? She has no kingdom, she has no title, and on top of all that, she doesn't want to marry you. She's told me as much."

"My reasons are none of your concern, and her objections are none of mine," he replied, "I have made my decision; I will not be swayed."

Artemisia leaned forward, pressing her hands into his desk. "This is about her mother, isn't it?" she hissed, "Over thirty years later, and you still can't get over the fact that you lost…"

At that he, shot up again, slamming his hands down on the desk, causing Artemisia to visibly jump. His face was twisted into a menacing scowl, his shoulders up by his ears.

"Enough, Artemisia!" he growled, "Remember who it is your are speaking to. I have afforded you one too many liberties already. Do not expect any more."

Artemisia leaned away from the desk, crossing her arms and dropping her gaze. While the King had always allowed her to speak frankly to him, she knew if she continued in this way, she would soon find herself staring at the inside of a prison cell.

The King remained standing. "I expect that from now on, you will honor your oath and will no longer seek a relationship with my bride-to-be," he continued. "I have always been tolerant of your unusual proclivities, allowed your dalliances with any serving maid willing to entertain them, but I will no longer allow it with Calliope. I don't care if you can't sire a bastard upon her; she will be mine and mine alone."

Artemisia kept her gaze to the floor and only nodded slightly.

"Are we understood?" the King pressed.

"Understood, Your Majesty," she replied, meeting his eyes once more.

"Good," He sat back down, leaning back into his chair once more. "Then you are dismissed."

* * *

Callie had thought it would be more bearable the second night. She thought that, like all terrifying things, it would lose its power once she had faced it head on, but such was not the case. The hours of the day had all blurred together, so deeply lost was she in her tangled psyche that she hardly knew what she was doing most of the time. Arachnus snapped at her a couple times, then asked if she was ok. She only nodded, said she was tired, said she hadn't slept well last night. It was the truth at least. In the afternoon, she ate for the first time since the day before, but very little. The emptiness inside her gut felt like it belonged there, so she simply wasn't hungry. Everything within her felt dull and blunted, the colors around her appeared muted, the world sounded like it was under water.

"Callie," Arachnus touched her shoulder gently. Even just that second of brief contact was enough to make her jump, jolting her out of her daze.

"It's time to go," he said.

Callie looked around the room as if it was her first time seeing it that day. She saw the gown on the dress form, almost complete in its construction, with the exception of the sleeves and a few minor finishings. It would likely be completed in the next couple days, and then all that would be left was the embellishment. She wondered how much time she really had left.

She returned to her room and sat on the bed where she waited. The music box was still shattered on the floor. She never bothered to clean it up, and she never intended to. She would leave it there exactly the way she was left: broken, neglected, and utterly alone.

When the knock came at the door, she opened it to find the same chambermaid from the night before and again, she followed her. They navigated the corridors and winding passaged. As they approached the guards, one of them leered at her and smirked as she passed. Once behind the doors of the antechamber, Callie's heart was hammering so hard it was all she could hear.

The nightgown on a hook was burgundy this time, the flowers on the vanity, roses. They had been gardenias last time, or some other sickly, sweet-smelling blossom. Callie hadn't been sure, but she remembered how the round, white petals formed a spiral at its center. She stared at the roses the whole time the chambermaid plaited and wrapped her hair, fingers fidgeting with the seams of her nightgown, trying to determine their construction by touch alone. When the chambermaid finished, she stood her up again to look her over, then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small flask.

"Drink this," she said, offering it out to Callie.

Callie stared at it, unsure of what to make of it.

"To dull your senses," the chambermaid said. The look in her eyes told Callie everything she needed to know.

Callie thanked her for the small mercy, and took a swig from the flask. The liquid burned her nose and throat, causing her to cough, but she swallowed it anyway. As she went to hand the flask back to her, the chambermaid shook her head.

"A little more," she urged.

Callie drank a couple more gulps of the burning liquid until her stomach cramped and her senses began to buzz, then the chambermaid reclaimed her flask, taking a swig of it herself before stowing it away.

She lead Callie over to the far door and knocked.

"Come in."

Callie immediately flinched back at the sound of his voice and the chambermaid squeezed her hand. Then she opened the door and sent Callie through.

He was already in the bed, goblet of wine in hand, watching the flames lick the walls of a fireplace Callie didn't remember being there before. His expression didn't change when he saw her, but his eyes regarded her sharply, like a parent about to reprimand their child.

"Come here," he said, setting his cup down on the nightstand.

She approached, fixing her gaze on the nightstand so that she didn't have to see his eyes studying her every move. Then she stopped just short of the bedside to await further instructions. She never made eye contact, but she could still register his unrelenting gaze out of the corner of her eye.

Without warning, he snatched her arm, yanking her into the bed with such a sudden force that it almost knocked the wind out of her. He rolled to position himself over her, and all of the previous night's terror returned to her immediately.

"Must you always play so coy?" he asked, "You know exactly where I want you."

She thought she would be less afraid this time. She thought that if she could endure last night, then surely she could endure every night that followed. But now his hands were on her again, his shadow cast over her, and she could smell the wine upon his breath. She trained her eyes on the ceiling but could still see his face in her field of vision.

"Your beloved almost drew her sword on me today," he told her.

Callie's eyes darted to his face, and she was certain he could read the horror in them. What was Artemis thinking? To threaten the King was a grave offense, one that certainly would not be taken lightly. Her eyes began to well up as she shook her head.

"Please don't hurt her. Please, please don't hurt her," the words flew from her lips like an incantation.

"Hush, love," he whispered, "I'm a man of my word, aren't I? As tempted as I was, I allowed her to leave unscathed."

Callie felt a momentary rush of relief.

"Though I must say, I've never seen Artemisia behave quite like that before," he continued. "You must have quite an effect on her to drive her to such extremes. I wonder what it is about you that she's so taken with…"

She felt his hands move down and begin tugging up her nightgown at her hips.

"Perhaps I should find out for myself."

Callie didn't catch the meaning of his words until she saw his head descending, and felt his hands lock around her hips, dragging them in towards it. She had sworn she wouldn't resist, for Artemisia's sake she had sworn, but she couldn't let him do it. She couldn't let him take that from her too.

"No, no, no, please, no!" She tried to push his head away, tried to force him back by his shoulders, but he wouldn't budge and now she could feel him there, moving like a revolting worm.

She swore she wouldn't cry this time, but she did that too, covering her mouth to suppress the deep, jarring, croaking sobs as she fell back against the pillow. Such an act of tenderness, the first time Artemisia made love to her, now forever tarnished in her memory. She would rather he beat her, rather he brutalized her again than degrade something she had held so cherished.

He eventually did that as well, crushing the roses in her hair as he pulled it, holding her by her throat until the end. Part of her feared he would kill her right there, the other part of her wished that he would. When it was over, he didn't go to sleep. He just leaned back against the headboard, watching the flames that still hadn't gone out in the fireplace as he finished his wine.

Callie pulled her nightgown back down and turned away as she had the night before. She waited for her breathing to steady and the shaking to subside before she found the small courage within her to finally speak.

"Is this why you brought me to the Underground?" she asked, the bitterness evident in each word "Was this what you were planning all along?"

He looked at her, surprised, as if he had forgotten she was still there. Then she heard a chuckle leave his throat as he took another sip from his cup.

"Do you labor under the delusion that I brought you here against your will?" he replied, "Your mother had a habit of rewriting history as well."

"You've held me here against my will for the past fourteen years," Callie said.

"Do you even remember how you got here?" he asked sharply. She could see him turn to look at her out of the corner of her eye.

She didn't answer.

"Of course you don't. You wouldn't. But let me tell you that there are only two ways people come here: they are either wished here by themselves or by someone else. And I assure you, my dear, no one else wished you here."

Callie's brows furrowed as she tried to understand the meaning of his words. She couldn't remember how she got there, but why would she ever wish herself to such a place?

"Do you have any idea who I am, Callie?" He asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"You're the Goblin King," she replied quietly.

"That's one of my titles, yes," he told her, "But how do you think I came to be so? How do you think this kingdom came to be so inhabited by such hideous wretches?"

Callie didn't answer.

He settled back against the headboard. "The first ones that came were given as sacrifices to Moloch. I thought that explained why their flesh was so warped and disfigured, but in time, I came to realize that the burns didn't come from the fire. They had watched their own mothers place them upon the pyre, they had watched their own mothers standing there, unmoved as they shrieked. Do you know what that sort of thing does to a human spirit?"

Callie cringed at the description of the atrocity, but continued to listen.

"Soon, others came. Babes left exposed on cliff sides, babes dashed against walls in wartime. Entire orphanages of babes, neglected by their caretakers, enslaved in work houses, factories, brothels. They all came to my kingdom, which became a safe haven for them, a place where they could escape the shame of being so unloved and unwanted by their own makers."

He paused and took another sip of wine before continuing.

"I know it is said among you mortals that the deepest love a human can fathom is the love between a mother and child. It is an image ever present in that Roman religion Artemisia was once so fond of. _La Madonna… La Pieta._ The deepest love a human can fathom, but with every citizen my kingdom gains, I find that even that well runs so piteously shallow. It is a fact of which I know you are well aware."

Callie turned her face toward him and his eyes met hers.

"You may not remember what brought you here, but you still carry those wounds, don't you? Always the least among your siblings, always the odd girl out. Your mother didn't understand you, neither did your father, your teachers, your peers. So you wished to disappear, you wished to escape from the world, and I was only too happy to oblige. You are not here by anyone else's will, Callie. You are here because you know it's where you belong."

She turned away again, jaw set, fists clenched, eyes now welling up with her anger. She wished she could call him a liar, she wished that none of what he said was true, but it was. It all was. She was the second born, the only girl, and an unfit playmate for her two brothers. They barred her from their company, never sharing their toys, their games, their friends with anyone but each other. So she learned to be alone. She learned to spend her hours catching insects, lizards, frogs and all other mute creatures like herself. She learned to climb trees, to braid flowers into her hair, to pretend. But all that solitude took its toll. Her classmates found her odd, her teachers docked her participation points, her parents fretted over her lack of friends.

It was that final point that caused her last argument she had with her mother. She had come into her room and found the jar that Callie kept hidden behind the curtain.

"What did I tell you about bringing bugs into the house?" she scolded.

"But, mommy, they're fireflies," Callie had said.

"I don't care what they are!" her mother shouted, "I said no bugs in the house!"

"But they're my friends, mommy," Callie said.

At that, her mother snatched the jar and threw it into the trash.

"Bugs aren't friends! People are friends!" she yelled, "What the hell is wrong with you, Callie? Why can't you just act like a normal kid?"

She must have asked herself that question a thousand times: what the hell is wrong with you? It only made her want to hide deeper and deeper within herself. _Keep your head down, keep your mouth shut and they won't see that there's something wrong with you._ It was her greatest secret, her greatest source of shame, this sense of "wrongness" she carried around with her. She felt it even now, especially now, as she laid huddled in the Goblin King's bed.

She wiped her eyes with her knuckles, feeling so sick to death of their constant weeping. Once her breath steadied, she asked him one more question:

"Why do you want to marry me?"

A pause, and then he chuckled again. "So Artemisia did tell you. I was hoping it would be a surprise." He waved his hand the flamed suddenly went out in the fireplace, not even leaving embers in their wake.

"I'm afraid it's all for political reasons," he explained, "Your mother caused a great deal more upheaval than you could ever imagine. Once my subjects saw that there was one who could not be so easily ruled, they began to question my reign. That's how it always starts. Revolution begets revolution. It only takes one."

He put his cup back down on the nightstand. She felt his weight shift on the bed, then his hand trailing over her shoulder, her back, her hip, her thigh. She felt his breath against her neck.

"But when we marry, they will know," he whispered, "Even if I cannot rule the Champion, I can still rule her progeny. Take her daughter to wife. Sow her lineage with my seed. What could they say then? What objection then could they have to my reign?"

The lamp went out at the bedside, and she could hear him moving in the darkness. Then she felt his hands upon her, and he dragged her down to smother her again.

* * *

The chambermaid walked the empty corridors from the kitchens to the farthest wing of the castle, carrying the parcel neatly wrapped up in her arms. Her dark eyes caught the shine of the torchlights, her slender body silhouetted against the moonlight as she passed the large arching windows. Tonight would be a good night for travel.

She was already waiting for her at the end of the corridor when she arrived. She had with her only a single bag, a quiver slung over her shoulder, and her sword by her side. Her eyes were uncharacteristically still and pensive as she lingered in the darkness.

"There should be enough provisions here for two weeks," the chambermaid said, handing her the parcel, "Will that be enough?"

"It's more than enough," Artemisia replied, "Thank you, Ellowyn."

A brief hush passed between them so that only the frogs and crickets could be heard.

"Is she with him now?" Artemisia asked.

Ellowyn nodded solemnly. "I gave her a draught to sooth her nerves," she told her, "I can't say how effective it was…"

A pained expression crossed Artemisia's face, and she turned away so Ellowyn wouldn't see the tears beginning to form in her eyes. The guilt clutched at her heart, threatening to split it open.

"It's my fault," she whispered like a confession, "She wouldn't be there now if she wasn't trying to protect me."

"No, Artemis," Ellowyn said firmly, "Believe me, men like that… They use anything at their disposal. If he hadn't used you, he would have used something else. Anything else. He would move the stars out of alignment if it meant getting his way."

"Then I hope he will have less leverage over her once I'm gone," Artemisia said.

Ellowyn didn't answer. She wished she could reassure Artemisia that the only power the King wielded over Callie was the threat of harming her, but she knew better. She knew the terror of it all too well.

"You will look after her, won't you?" Artemisia asked earnestly.

"Of course," Ellowyn answered, "Anyone you love is a sister to me."

"Thank you," Artemisia said, stepping forward and wrapping an arm around her.

Ellowyn returned her embrace, kissing her on the cheek. "Take care," she said, "Please be safe."

"I will," Artemisia told her. Then she opened the door and stepped out into the moon-washed landscape.


	9. Abandonment

**Abandonment**

Tonight the silk was a deep violet and the flowers were orchids. Callie had always liked orchids; they were one of her favorite types of flowers. But now she could only pity their fate, knowing that soon they would be crushed and broken upon fine linen or in rough, grasping hands. Callie wondered why he even bothered having fresh flowers cut each day just so they could be destroyed each night. But then, the answer seemed obvious.

The chambermaid stood behind her, brushing her hair, preparing it for her applications. She hadn't said a word since the night before. Her hands moved gently, steadily as she swept the bristles through Callie's locks, gathering it up into sections in her fingers.

"Does it ever get more bearable?" Callie asked, finally breaking the silence between them. She had seen it in her eyes the night before, that knowing look, that kinship in suffering.

The chambermaid paused a moment before answering. "You will get better at numbing yourself," she said, "At blocking it out. But I'm afraid it will always stick with you."

Callie quietly considered her words. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Ellowyn," the chambermaid replied.

"Ellowyn…" Callie repeated, "Was it the King…?"

"No," Ellowyn replied. "It was my former employer. He would sometimes corner me when I was in a room alone and…" She sighed. "Well, anyway, it was a long time ago."

Callie went quiet again. She noticed the ring on Ellowyn's third finger, then changed to a less painful the subject. "Are you married?" she asked.

"Yes," Ellowyn smiled warmly, "With two little ones now."

"Your husband, is he a good man?"

"Oh, yes," Ellowyn replied, "Good, kind, patient, a wonderful father. I have been very blessed."

Callie almost balked at the word. _Blessed._ How could anyone use that word to describe themselves after going through what she had gone through?

"How old are your children?" Callie asked. She was grateful for the distraction, for the opportunity to talk about something happier than what was happening in her life right now.

"Maribelle is seven and Adaire will be two this month," Ellowyn told her, "Adaire is quite a handful now that he's walking and talking. But Maribelle is such a good big sister, she helps me look after him."

She trimmed the stem of the orchid branch and began pinning it into Callie's hair artfully.

"Is that who's looking after him now?" Callie asked.

"No," Ellowyn replied, "Their both with their father, now. I work at night so that he can care for them while I'm away. It's exhausting, and I don't get to see him ask much as I'd like, but we need the income, especially with the ever-increasing cost of food."

She stood Callie up from the stool and looked her over. She was almost the same height as Callie, and her hair was the same color. Had it not been for her strange eyes, they could have almost passed for sisters.

Ellowyn reached into her pocket and pulled out the flask. "Did it help last time?" she asked.

Callie grimaced and shook her head. "No," she said, "Nothing helps."

Ellowyn nodded grimly and slipped it back into her pocket. "Calliope…" she said gently, "Should you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you," Callie replied, eyes flashing apprehensively to the door.

Ellowyn took her hand and walked her toward it, gently leading her to her fate. Then, giving it a squeeze, she let it go, lifting her hand to knock.

* * *

The knock came at the door in the middle of it, and Callie felt an unexpected surge of fury rise up in her. _Just go away. Just let him finish so I can go to sleep._ She wanted it to be over, and she knew that if he had to stop, he would just come back and start again.

"What?" the King snarled, as if giving voice to her own anger.

"Majesty, I apologize for the intrusion," a voice came from the other side of the door, "But the Captain is missing and we haven't been able to find her anywhere. She's not in her quarters, and she was supposed to be on shift tonight."

A growl of frustration rumbled in his throat as he turned his venomous gaze on Callie. "Your beloved makes it very difficult to remain true to one's word," he whispered to her.

He pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. After a moment he stood up, picking his clothes up off the floor and dressing himself before stepping out the door and closing it behind him.

After he left, Callie just laid there listening to the hushed voices speaking frantically in the hall, then willed herself to rise slowly. As her head fell forward, an orchid blossom loosed from its stem and landed on her thigh. She let her gaze fall on it momentarily, then she stretched her reach across the bed and pulled her nightgown towards her, slipping it back on over her head.

Once she no longer felt so naked and vulnerable, she collapsed back down against the bed, curling up like a dead spider. _You will get better at numbing yourself,_ Ellowyn had said, _better at blocking it out._ How much of herself would have to go numb, how much of the world would she have to block out before she could bear it?

Soon he returned. She kept her back to him, wishing she could just pretend he wasn't there.

"Gone," he declared, slamming the door shut behind him. "She packed her things and left in the night."

Callie listened as he approached, then felt the bed shift under his weight. His hand took hold of her shoulder, turning her towards him, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"You understand, don't you? Your beloved has abandoned you," he told her.

She met his gaze but gave no reaction. He seemed almost giddy as a triumphant smile curled at the corners of his mouth, like he had just proven something to her.

"Behold the fathomless depths of the human heart," he whispered.

Then he pulled her nightgown away again.

* * *

Flowers. Always flowers. She was getting so sick of all the goddamn flowers. She had been sewing them onto the train of the gown for days now, one by one, locking them in place with a glass seed pearl. They began sparse at the top of the skirt then clustered together densely toward the hem, like the dress was dripping with flowers. Callie would have once marveled at such a beautiful effect, but now she could only labor grudgingly, resenting their uniform shape, the perfect symmetry of their petals. Soon the dress would be done and she would be damned, forced to be the architect of her own destruction.

Every night loomed before her like a Promethean nightmare, and every night, the ritual was the same. The nightgown was always a different color and the damnable flowers were always a different variety, but Ellowyn would always dress her, always arrange her hair, then she would send her though the door where he was always waiting. It was true what she had told Callie: she did get better at blocking it out. Some nights she was so successful that she could hardly remember anything between walking into the room and drifting asleep beside him in the bed. But other nights, particularly when he was in a foul mood, it wasn't so easy. Those nights felt impossible to ignore, with his exaggerated violence and the deep, vicious terror running though the all the nerves of her body like roots. The night before had been one of those nights.

Arachnus had not said a word to her the whole day. They hadn't said much of anything to each other for the past week, and she knew he must have sensed that something was wrong, but he wasn't one to pry into affairs of others. As much as she knew he cared about her, she also knew there were just some things he didn't want to know, especially if there was nothing he could do about it.

But finally he did say something, perhaps in an effort to break through the hardened exterior of her sudden aloofness and bring back the old Callie he knew.

"I heard that the King's lady soldier up and left without a trace," he said, pinning the tiny silk flowers in place upon the shoulders of the bodice.

Callie didn't say anything. She didn't even look at him. She just kept on threading her straw-like beading needle though the pearls and drawing them in tightly to the taffeta.

He paused, then continued hesitantly. "I know you were fond of her, but I always had my reservations," he said. "She had a reputation, you know? Quite a flighty thing she was. I was always worried that she might do something like this."

Callie's fingers continued their delicate work without interruption, but she felt her eyes getting misty.

"I just don't think you should lose your head over her," he said, "There are better ones for you out there. You will find yourself a worthy husband one day… Or wife, if it pleases you. All is not lost. Everything is going to be ok."

At that, Callie's hands stopped and fell into her lap. Her head hung forward, her hair veiling her face. She shook her head gently, almost imperceptibly.

"You don't understand…" she whispered, "Everything will not be ok… Nothing will be ok ever again…"

The tears fell from her lashes upon the taffeta like glass raindrops. Had she not already wished for the gown's destruction, she would have worried about water stains, but now it seemed only appropriate that her tears be woven into the fabric along with everything else.

"Oh, Callie," Arachnus sighed, gazing down at her piteously. He was not an affectionate man, he never had been, but neither had he ever seen Callie look so despondent. He didn't know what else to do, so he bent down and wrapped all four arms around her, swallowing her in his embrace. Her arms hung down at her side as she pressed her cheek into his shoulder, wetting his tunic with tears.

"There, there, Callie," he soothed, patting her back gently, "Be strong."

He gave her the rest of the day off, partly out of pity and partly because he didn't have much else to offer in the way of comfort. There wasn't much left to finish on the dress, and he assured her that he could take care of it himself. He just wanted her to go back to her room and rest. Callie drifted down the corridor slowly, heavy heart weighing her down.

Abandonment. That's how they all saw it, but Callie knew what it really was. Artemisia's flight could not be evidence of her indifference. She risked too much. She knew full well that the King would not take her absence lightly, not after she'd sworn her life to him. He would send hunters and mercenaries after her to drag her back to the castle for the sole purpose of punishing her betrayal. Callie now knew Artemisia's mind almost as well as her own. She knew that Artemisia held to a sense of righteousness that she would never abandon.

She had told Callie long ago why she took up the sword, having seen far too often how the strong imposed themselves upon the weak. She'd hoped to be the defender of the defenseless, a protector of not just the King, but all his kingdom, ensuring justice to all its citizens. But she could not complicity stand by and watch what he was doing to Callie. Especially if her presence only ensured Callie's continual degradation. She would rather abandon her post and risk the King's wrath than be the reason behind her suffering.

The breeze blew in from an open window, and Callie stopped to look out it, noting how it lead out onto the rooftop, before dropping off sharply into the gardens down below. Callie had walked past this window so many times, felt its breeze, heard its call down to the lily pond, but now she saw it differently. Now it looked more like an exit.

She hiked up her skirts and crawled up onto the ledge, feeling her hair drift around her as she entered the open air. The rooftop slanted acutely, and Callie had to hold herself steady and get her footing before she could go any further. But then, slowly, she crept towards the edge, watching the landscape sprawl out before her as she drew ever closer. For the first time, she could see beyond the walls of the castle. She could see the city, rolling hills, forests spread out before her, as far away and untouchable as clouds. The wind whipped around her, sweeping up her hair, caressing her neck, whispering to her like a lover as it enticed her to move ever nearer. All it would take was just one moment of reckless bravery, and she could be part of it, breaking open her body, dissolving into that landscape like mist. Then she would be free.

She had thought about it before, but then her mind would fill with all the tortures the King could inflict upon Artemisia for driving his bride to her death. Now Artemisia was gone, safe from the King's immediate reach, and Callie's body hung heavy on her like wet clothes. She inched closer to the edge, now seeing the gardens in full view—the lily pond, the hedges, the topiaries, the latticed arches of dripping wisteria. They juxtaposed against the wild horizon like a lackluster imitation. Her life felt so small and constrained within her skin. Just one moment, just one more step, and it would all be over.

But just as she had almost worked up the nerve, just as she was telling herself it would be quick, painless, wouldn't feel a thing, her foot slipped and she fell hard against the slanted shingles. She slid, and now her legs were dangling over the edge so she could clearly see the dizzying depths of her descent. Whatever small courage she had managed to conjure immediately fled as she clawed the tiles of the roof, attempting to drag herself back. Her feet kicked against the siding, trying to gain traction as gravity gripped at her ankles like a siren that had lured her in and was now attempting to drown her. Finally, after an endless moment of frantic grasping, she was able to pull herself back up, tucking her legs in close as she tried to calm her panic. Somewhere deep within her, some small, voiceless thing was still clinging to hope, still clinging to life, still clinging to that unknowable future.

It was only later, when she was sitting before the vanity, Ellowyn brushing her hair, that Callie cursed herself for her cowardice. The opportunity had been there, literally an open window, and she didn't take it. Every day she drew ever closer to an eternity of misery, the literal definition of hell, and she had so foolishly foregone the rational choice of self-annihilation. How could she have let her panic get the better of her? How could she have been unable to overcome such a half-hearted will to live?

A nervous expression crossed Ellowyn's face as she finished pinning the flowers into place, and her eyes jumped to the door at the far end of the room. Then they returned to fix upon Callie's gaze in the mirror.

"I have something for you," she whispered, "I've been carrying it with me all week, but you must destroy it as soon as I give it to you."

A puzzled look crossed Callie's face, but Ellowyn looked again towards the door, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded square of paper, handing it to Callie. Callie unfolded it slowly and gently, careful not to make too much noise, then read the words scrawled across it:

 _I will return for you._

A single statement. Right beneath the words was a symbol, two crescent moons facing opposite directions meeting at a full moon in the middle. It was how she signed her name.

 _Artemis._

The words revived that little feathered thing within her that had long felt dead. She knew that Artemisia had not abandoned her, at least not in the way that everyone had thought, but she didn't think she would ever return. It was both a terror and a comfort to her. Artemisia would come back for her, and if nothing else, Callie would see her face one more time.

"You mustn't cry, Callie," Elowynn whispered, "If he sees you've already been crying, he might ask questions."

Callie nodded and fought back the tears, which was getting easier through frequent practice. She dipped the letter into the oil lamp, watching it catch fire, then dropped it onto a little silver platter on the vanity. She watched calmly as the paper curled and the words burned away before transmuting into wispy, feathery ash.

Then she stood, holding her head up taller than she had been, and walked over to the door at the far end of the chamber. She didn't wait for Ellowyn this time. Instead, she lifted her own hand and knocked upon it herself.

* * *

Artemisia had never seen so much refuse in one place. There were literally mountains of it, stretching out in every direction, all the broken and abandoned things of the world gathered together in one single location. The only other living things she saw besides the rats and the maggots were the scavengers, the wrinkles in their faces like trenches, their hair hanging in down in stringy, greasy tendrils. They combed through the garbage, gathering any scraps they thought they might be able to trade, gathering any half-eaten fruit that wasn't too far turned to take home to their families. This was the outskirts of the city, the slums. How could he have let it fall into such disrepair?

Artemisia had been traveling through for days now and it seemed to never end. This was the only way she knew to the forest, but she was beginning to think she was lost. It was certainly a strong possibility, considering the lack of clear landmarks and the endless sea of rubbish. She tried to ask some of the scavengers for directions, but they would only try to offer her pieces of trash in exchange for the food in her bag.

Part of her felt like giving up, especially after so many nights of eating rats in an effort to preserve her stores and sleeping among the maggots. She had almost been gone a week, and still hadn't reached the forest. Even if she did reach it, there was no guarantee that the Exile was there or that she would even find him. The only thing keeping her going was the thought of Callie.

Artemisia could have left her to her fate and continued living as she had been. She would have still had the trust and confidence of the King, steady employment, a roof over her head, food in her belly, a bed to sleep in. Her life would have inspired envy among most of the kingdom's denizens, every need met, every comfort provided. To throw it away so recklessly over some girl seemed nothing short of madness. But Callie wasn't just some girl. She reminded Artemisia of something she had heard long ago, back in her old life. She didn't understand it when the priest first said it: _"The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls. When he found one very precious pearl, he went away and sold all he had and bought it."_ Why would someone, especially a merchant, sell everything they owned for a single precious stone, no matter how priceless? It seemed the very pinnacle of foolishness. But now it made perfect sense to her. Now she knew there were some things in this world so priceless, they were worth giving up everything for.

There was not a singular moment she could pinpoint when she had fallen in love with Callie. It was not like in the story books, where the stars line up and the lovers share a moment so divine, they know in an instant they were destined for each other. Rather, it was an incremental shift, an accumulation of small, ordinary moments, collecting like sand in the bottom of an hour glass. She became addicted to Callie's gentle presence, which was like a balm upon her spirit after a long day commanding the guard. The sad way she smiled, the gentle way she spoke, the way she examined the seams in Artemisia's clothes, the way she reached for Artemisia's hand, even in her sleep. All the little things about Callie wrapped themselves around her heart like ivy upon brick, their soft roots burrowed so deeply into the stone that they couldn't be torn away without damage.

Artemisia finally had to stop for the night, gathering up bits of paper and anything wood she could find to build herself a fire. She struck a flint with the knife she kept in her bag until the paper caught and began stacking small splinters of wood around it, building it up slowly. She was so occupied with the task at hand, that she almost didn't notice the movement over by where she had dropped her bag. But when she heard the shuffling, she looked up and saw it there, digging through her bag, gathering up the provisions Ellowyn had sent with her.

Artemisia moved stealthily, so as to not catch its attention, then sprang at it, snatching it up by the back of its neck. She had thought that it was a large rat and would not have to go hunting for her dinner that night, but as she lifted the creature into the light, she saw that it was something else entirely. It looked something like a mouse in the front half of its body, but its legs and tail looked more like that of a reptile. It let out a panicked squeak, squirming in her grip as she examined it. Then it talked.

"I'm sorry!" it cried, "Please don't eat me! I'll do whatever you want!"

 **A/N: So, I don't know how many people are actually reading this, if any at all. I know that most people who read** ** _Labyrinth_** **fan fictions are looking for Sarah/Jareth wish-fulfillment and not completely unrelated lesbian romances, so I get it. I'm not writing this because I thought it would be wildly popular with the readers; I just kind of needed another creative outlet now that sewing has become more of a job than a hobby for me.**

 **Full disclosure: a lot of the original characters in the story are based on real people, especially Calliope and Artemisia, who are based on myself and my wife. I am a professional seamstress by trade who met my wife when she was in the Army during Don't Ask Don't Tell. I also went through some severe bouts of depression during our 8 years together, which is also written into the story. Anyway, I appreciate anyone who is reading it. I plan to continue posting until it's completed.**


	10. Lady of the Labyrinth

**Lady of the Labyrinth**

Callie was surprised to find upon entering the room the King fully dressed, sitting at a table where his desk used to be, staring out out the window at the waning gibbous moon. The room was almost completely dark, lit only by a candelabra on the table next to the decanter and his half-filled glass. When he noticed her—which wasn't right away—he swept his hand toward the other side of the table, where a chair suddenly appeared in wisps from the air.

"Come," he said in a faraway-sounding voice, "Have a seat."

Callie did as she was bade, but the look of confusion was stark upon her face. He must have noticed it, because before she could say anything, he offered an explanation:

"I"m giving you the night off from your usual obligations," he said, "But I still wouldn't mind a drinking companion."

An empty glass appeared before her just like the chair, and he lifted the stopper off the decanter and filled it. She thanked him softly, partially out of habitual politeness and partially because she was genuinely grateful to be reprieved from his abuses for a night. He turned back towards the window, tilting his own glass to his lips as Callie took a sip.

The rich, bold acidity of the wine seemed to warm her entire body the moment it touched her tongue. She never really had much of an opportunity to drink before, and that compounded with the fact that she hadn't been eating or sleeping properly made the alcohol go right to her head. She pulled her feet up off the floor and hugged her knees to her, still feeling incredibly vulnerable in his presence, even when he wasn't looking at her or touching her. They lingered there in that uneasy silence for a few fleeting moments until he spoke.

"I hope you know that your paramour's absence has caused me a great deal of trouble," he said spitefully, "The longer she's gone, the less inclined I feel towards leniency."

Callie raised her head, holding him in her reproach. "You promised me you wouldn't hurt her," she reminded him, "I have done everything you asked. You swore you would keep your word."

"You have stayed true to your agreement with me, but she has not. She swore an oath of loyalty to me and has broken it numerous times now," he replied, "Not only did she seduce my bride, but now she has abandoned her post and gone absent without leave."

"She didn't seduce me; I seduced her," Callie snapped.

He looked at her in genuine surprise. It wasn't anything Callie thought was necessary for him to know, but she resented his assumptions that she possessed no sexual agency whatsoever. He spoke of her as if she were an object, a thing to be acted upon, lacking any will or desires of her own. Perhaps it was just the alcohol making her bold, but she challenged him with her gaze until a grin creased his face.

"My, aren't we just full of surprises?" he crooned. He leaned back in his chair, regarding her inquisitively. "Would that make you a full invert like Artemisia, then? Or just a partial one?"

Callie's brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't know what you mean," she said.

"Do you prefer fucking men, women, or both?" he clarified, raising his voice slightly.

Callie dropped her gaze. Not only did the question embarrass her, but his coarse language caught her off guard when he usually spoke so eloquently. She shrugged.

"I just like Artemisia," she said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he said, not sounding so convinced, "So if I were to call that chambermaid in here, you would have no interest?"

Callie eyes shot back up in alarm. "Ellowyn is married!" she exclaimed.

"And what does that matter?" he asked.

Callie narrowed her eyes. "It matters to some of us…"

"Ah, ever the noble Champion," he mocked.

"I'm not the Champion," Callie shot back.

He paused, his expression almost suggesting disappointment. "No…" he replied, "You are not."

He took another sip of his wine and turned his gaze back towards the window as Callie dropped hers back to the floor. Another heavy silence passed between them.

"Were you in love with her?" Callie asked. She felt that, at this point, she had the right to know. Every vicious, spiteful thing he ever did to her could always be traced back to one source.

"Who? The chambermaid?" he asked.

"My mother," Callie pressed.

He glanced sidelong at her, his face unmoving. "That is what the story said, isn't it? 'What no one knew was that the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl…'"

"What story?" Callie asked.

"I said that I had told her in writing how I felt about her," he explained, "Did you think I wrote her a letter?"

"I didn't think you wrote her a story," Callie answered.

"One such as I cannot simply appear before mortal women and confess our affection," he continued, "So I gave her a story that she might want a part of, a story that she _did_ want a part of. I learned long ago that stories are a precious commodity among your kind."

"So was the story true?" Callie asked.

He sighed and threw an exasperated look her way. "Yes," he answered, "The story was true. For whatever god-forsaken reason, I did love her."

He held Callie's gaze for a moment before continuing. "Our kind has always been fascinated by mortals. I had been watching your world change for centuries, slowly at first, then more rapidly in last hundred years as two senseless wars and widespread destruction shook the very core of your civilization. It was quite a busy season for me then, especially the second war. Thousands of new subjects arrived, fresh from the gas chambers, expelled and unwanted by their nations. Such depravity had always existed in the hearts of man, but never before had I seen it carried out with such precision and machine-like efficiency."

Callie, even knowing very little of her old world, knew of this black stain upon its history.

"When they realized what they had done, the evil they had carried out, the evil they had been subjected to, they could no longer believe in those old stories. They were outdated, insufficient to offer the redemption they promised, so they looked to other idols to explain the world to them. Such idols were equally insufficient—reason, science, politics—but they at least carried some shadow of sense into this brave new world. Slowly, the old stories fell by the wayside, as did their hope, their truth, their meaning, the very scaffolding of the human soul. So mankind was once again left stark and shivering against the cruel realities of life."

He spoke like a prophet, his voice drawing her into that unspoken tragedy of her people.

"But every so often, I would find one who hadn't exchanged all the wonder and beauty of the world for the cold, hard cynicism of modernity. One who read poetry into all of the ordinary trappings of life, one who knew that not everything was what it seemed. Your mother was one such person."

His face softened as his eyes considered her quietly, catching flecks of gold from the candlelight.

"In that way, I can tell you are like her," he continued, "She would rebuke you for it, but only because parents despise most the flaws that their offspring reflect back at them. And that is how she perceived that which drew me to her most: a flaw."

Callie tipped the dregs of her wine glass back into her throat, attempting to clear the lump that had formed there. Then she turned her face away.

"I never thought of myself as being much like my mother at all…" she confessed.

"In temperament, you are not," he told her, "She was a spoiled, petulant thing when I met her, raging at anyone who would dare disturb her dreaming. But she was also charming and clever enough to draw friends and allies around herself with ease. She was certainly no wallflower."

He smiled and tilted the decanter to fill her glass again. "No, I'm afraid, in temperament, you are far more like myself."

Her eyes shot back up at him, aghast. "I'm _nothing_ like you," she balked.

"What makes you so sure about that?" he asked.

"I'm not so cruel, for one," she answered.

He laughed. "And how would you know?" he asked, "Have you ever been given the opportunity?" He leaned in. "Do you genuinely believe that you would show no cruelty were you to one day have _me_ at your mercy?"

She scowled at him. "You would deserve it," she said.

"Isn't that always the justification?" he replied.

"Do you believe that I deserve it?" she asked.

The smile left his face. "No," he said seriously, "But she certainly does."

A white, hot rage climbed up in Callie like magma.

"I am not my mother…" she snarled between locked teeth, annunciating each word through the tremors in her voice.

"No," he responded curtly, "Even better: you are her daughter."

He leaned in, his eyes now so dark they couldn't even catch the light. "Do you have any idea what it's like to have lived as long as I have? To witness the endless passing of centuries, the rise and fall of nations, the coming and going of generations? Can you even imagine the atrocities I have seen, the sins I have committed, the losses I have suffered? Your mother was not the first woman I loved, but she was the first to give me hope that I had finally met my match, that the next few eons need not be lived out in such desolate isolation."

Callie still fumed but continued to listen.

"Then she took that hopeful future and dashed it to pieces before my eyes," he continued. "It was not just her dreams she rejected, but mine as well. So I returned the favor. I found the very embodiment of all her hopes and dreams and took it away from her. It was nothing less than what she deserved."

"So now you would abuse the innocent to punish the guilty?" Callie replied angrily.

He laughed again, leaning back in his chair, regarding her in pure bemusement. "'Abuse?'" he repeated, "Such ingratitude. All your life you have lived comfortably within my castle, kept warm and clean and fed, been given a room and honest employment, and you call that 'abuse'? You don't know the meaning of the word."

His smile shifted suddenly and was replaced by a dark glower. "Tell me: do you think you're the first woman compelled to marry someone she didn't want to, the first to have to fuck someone she despised? Not too long ago, that was par for the course for your sex and in many nations besides your own, it still is. The freedom that women in your homeland so enjoy comes only as the result of your country's technological advances, and I do not entertain such novelties here. You were a slave in my castle and now your are to become a queen, yet you have the audacity to speak of 'abuse'? You have no idea how many women would kill to be in your place."

"Then take one of them!" Callie snapped.

His fist slammed down on the table, causing her to jump. "I will not!" he growled, "I will do as I please, and you will serve your King in whatever way is required of you without complaint! That is, unless you wish to learn the true meaning of the word 'abuse.'"

Callie held his gaze but remained silent. She found herself now treading a very dangerous, thin line. For a moment, they both remained still, as if suddenly turned to stone. Then the King's expression softened ever so slightly, and he tilted his head back, drinking down the remainder of his wine.

"I am tired now," he said, "I think I will retire for the night."

He stood from his seat and waved his hand over the table, causing his wine glass to vanish.

"You are welcome to stay up if you wish, though I would advise that you to get plenty of rest tonight," he told her.

"I will stay up a little while longer," Callie replied softly, still shaken from his outburst.

He only nodded and began to remove his jacket. Callie stared out into open space, listening as he undressed and climbed into bed. She continued to listen until she heard his breath coming deep and slow. Only then did she blow out the flames of the candelabra, and tentatively crawl into the bed beside him.

* * *

When the next morning came, Callie found herself shaken awake by a chambermaid she'd never seen before.

"Wake up!" she cried, "We haven't much time!"

Callie shot up in bed to find herself surrounded by a flurry of maid servants, opening curtains, arranging flowers, setting out combs and perfumes and jewelry. Then panic set in as she looked towards the closet and saw the silk taffeta gown hanging off the back of the door. It had been completed two weeks early, but still she thought she would have more time.

"Get up!" the chambermaid cried, pulling her out of the bed. She pulled her across the room, leading her through a hidden door that lead to a washroom. There, a bath was already drawn, strewn with flower petals, and the maid quickly stripped away Callie's nightgown and lowered her in. Unlike that from her own tap, the water was actually warm, but it still proved cold comfort to her as the maid began scrubbing away at her skin.

How could it be happening so soon? Was he really going to just spring it on her like this? No warning, no time to prepare? As these thoughts were running through Callie's mind, she looked up to see Ellowyn laying out the towels.

"Ellowyn!" Callie called out to her, drawing her attention, "What is happening?"

Ellowyn turned wearing a solemn expression on her face. "There is to be a ceremony," she explained calmly, "The King wishes you to be in attendance."

Ceremony? What kind of ceremony? Her skin prickled with dread as the maid pulled her out of the bath and wrapped a large towel around her.

She was only wearing that towel when she was sat before the vanity, a flurry of maids clustered around her, brushing her hair, rouging her lips and cheeks, clasping heavy jewels at her wrists. An overwhelming dizziness came over her as she felt any sense of control quickly slipping away from her.

Soon they had her up and were dressing her in a wispy chemise and elaborately flossed corset, followed by layers of petticoats. Finally, they lifted the gown and slipped it on over her head. They laced the stays as tight as they would go, but Callie had lost so much weight by then that the gown still hung slightly loose.

They slipped a pair of shoes on her feet and finally stood her before the mirror to see the final result. Callie could hardly recognize herself.

Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears as Ellowyn lead her down the corridor in the direction of the throne room. The halls were eerily quiet, empty, not another soul inhabiting them besides the guards who stood at the throne room doors. As Callie approached, they swung the doors open and allowed her entrance.

A thousand faces turned at once and stared at her. She had never seen such a variety of faces, some giant, some minuscule, not just goblins, but elves, trolls, kelpies, huldras, pixies, and so many more she didn't know the names of. They too were dressed in all their finery, at least those that wore clothing, and those that didn't were bedecked in flowers, shells, feathers, brambles, whatever beautiful adornments nature had to offer. The entire room was decked in sprays of flowers and garlands of ivy, the vaulted windows flooding everything with light. At the very center, before his throne, stood the King, wearing the ballroom jacket she had so painstakingly embellished just weeks before. Her heart twisted in her chest the moment she spotted him.

"Come forward, Calliope," he said, his voice filling up the entire room.

Callie hesitated, then approached slowly, feeling the eyes on her, hearing the murmurs as she passed. She looked straight ahead, but not at the King, who also filled her with trepidation, but his boots. The taffeta whispered and her shoes clicked with each step, echoing throughout the room. She focused on not tripping on the hem of her skirt, which brushed closer to the ground than she was used to. If this was her wedding day, it certainly was far from anything she had ever expected.

She stopped before the King, who stood upon a circular mosaic before the dais of his throne, and curtsied deeply. She had been given no instruction for what she was to do, for what was expected of her, but she knew at least the protocol for approaching the King before an audience.

She raised herself back up but did not raise her gaze. Even so, she could still feel his and a thousand others boring into her.

"Calliope, Daughter of the Champion," he said, his voice reverberating all around her, "Thirty-one years ago, your mother set off on a quest through the Labyrinth to retrieve her brother from my kingdom. Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, she made her way to the castle beyond the goblin city to take back the child she so loved."

 _To take back the child she so loved._ The words stabbed into her like knives.

"Never before and never again has such a feat of heroism been witnessed in my kingdom," he continued, "And though your mother cannot be here to receive her due honor, as her daughter, you carry her name and her blood, and therefore, are fit to carry her title."

He held out a crystal in his hand, and immediately it burst forth with light, transforming into a sword in his grip. Callie nearly leapt back at the sight of the sharp, polished steel, but he took a step forward, meeting her eyes.

"Kneel," he whispered, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Artemisia's face flashed through her mind. _You're the only one I'm happy to kneel before._ Slowly, Callie sank to her knees, bowing her head so low that only the floor was within her line of sight.

He brought the broad side of the blade down to rest heavily on her shoulder.

"I, Jareth, King of the Goblins, Warden of the Unwanted, dub thee, Calliope, Lady of the Labyrinth." He lifted the blade and tapped it on her other shoulder.

Then he extended out his hand. "Arise," he said.

Callie reluctantly took his hand, and he pulled her up from the floor. Instantly, the room erupted in applause.

* * *

"The door should be over this way!" Pips called out, bounding over the piles of junk with his strong, reptilian back legs.

Artemisia followed as quickly as she could, not nearly so fast or agile, holding out hope that he really knew where he was going and wasn't just leading her further astray. After their conversation the night before, she had hoped she had found herself a reliable guide, but nothing was ever what it seemed in this place.

He had immediately began begging for his life as she held him up in the firelight, but she didn't let him go.

"You were trying to steal my food," she accused, "It's all I have for my whole journey. Give me one good reason why I _shouldn't_ eat you."

"Please!" he cried out, kicking his feet, "The food shortages have been getting out of hand. My family is starving! I was just going to take a little to bring back for them."

Artemisia felt pity for him but didn't let it show on her face. "Do you think that I don't also have loved ones waiting for me back home? Do you think that there is no one who would suffer if I didn't make it back alive?"

"No! no!" the rodent squeaked, "I wasn't saying that!"

"Then what were you saying?" Artemisia demanded.

"Please!" he begged, "If you spare me, I can help you! Whatever you need, whatever you want, I'll do it!"

"What could you possibly offer me that would make up for your thievery?" Artemisia asked.

"You said you were on a journey. I can help," he offered, "I know these parts very well, I could be your guide!"

Artemisia was silent a moment as she considered his offer. "Do you know the way to the Forest of the Fieries?" she asked.

"Yes!" he cried, "Of course I do. It's not far from here at all."

She scrutinized his beady little eyes for a moment, trying to see if she could detect any sign of deceit. If he was lying, it was much harder to tell on a mouse face than on a human face.

Still holding him in her grasp, Artemisia picked her bag up off the ground and began to rummage through. She pulled out a loaf of bread that Ellowyn had packed for her and handed it to the creature.

"Here," she said, "Bring this back to your family, then meet me back here. If you aren't back by dawn, I will see that you _and_ your family take its place. Believe me. I have gotten very good at hunting rats…"

He squeaked in apprehension at her thinly-veiled threat. "Thank you, kind lady!" he groveled as she set him back down on the ground, "I will be back by dawn. I swear it!"

As Artemisia watched him scurry away, she wondered if she had just been scammed out of a perfectly good loaf of bread. But in the morning, she woke to find a pair of beady eyes and whiskers watching her as she slept. She shot up, startled, before realizing who they belonged to.

"You said to be here by dawn," he reminded her.

"So I did," Artemisia replied, "What is your name?"

"Pips," he told her.

She nodded. "That's surprisingly fitting," she commented. "My name is Artemisia."

He nodded in return. "That, too, is surprisingly fitting," he replied.

After breaking bread with her newfound companion, he perched upon her shoulder and they set off together through the junk heaps. He told her that every part of the Labyrinth was connected by a series of doors, and that the key to getting through was to find the right door.

"It's not always obvious," he told her, "But if you pay attention and keep an open mind, you will find where you need to go."

Suddenly, he sat up on his scaly back legs, sniffing the air. "We're close!" he cried, hopping down off her shoulder and bolting ahead of her.

Artemisia followed as quickly as she could, but compared to his quick, nimble movements, she moved like a giant, lumbering oaf. Finally she saw him stop before a heap of garbage that looked very much like all the other garbage heaps surrounding it.

"It's this one," he said.

Artemisia looked at it, squinting. "I don't see a door," she told him.

"It's that," Pips said, pointing to a hunk of scrap metal, sitting near the top.

Artemisia crossed her arms, shaking her head. "That doesn't look like a door…" she commented.

"I said you had to keep an open mind, didn't I?" he reminded her, "Just go and try to open it."

Artemisia eyed him suspiciously, wondering if this was some kind of trick, but he scrambled up her back and perched himself again on her shoulder as she began to ascend the heap. When she reached the hunk of metal, she took a deep breath and pealed it back. It was heavier than she thought it would be, and what she saw when she turned it over almost caught her by surprise. A tunnel wide enough to fit a man, like a rabbit hole filled with earth and veined by branching roots. From the other side could be seen a dim glimmer of light and she swore she could hear the haunting call of mourning doves. She turned toward Pips, aghast.

"I told you I knew my way around here," he said.

 **A/N: Thank you to katiewoo and cjunit1995 for your kind words. I can't tell you how much it made my day.**

 **My sister and I recently started a Bronte sisters thing where we write our stories during the week and then share and critique at the end of the week. She told me that she finds Callie to be an insufferable daisy in the first few chapters, so I've been working on making her a little less of a daisy. I don't know if it shows. She's supposed to get less and less daisy-esque as the story progresses, it just doesn't happen over night. She does like Artemisia's character though, probably because she's always liked my wife better than me. Anyway, thank you to my sister too for taking the time to read my story and give me honest feedback. Please stop taking so long to write your story. It's not like being a physical therapist on a military base is hard or anything…**


	11. Bravery

**Bravery**

The King escorted her back to his chambers after the accolade, and as they walked, Callie could see the change almost immediately. The guards bowed their heads to her, maids stopped and curtsied, everyone she passed moved out of her way, leaving her a wide berth. Though she felt relieved that the ceremony did not turn out to be what she'd anticipated, she found this sudden change in status unnerving to say the least. The King did not typically just go around handing out titles, particularly not unearned titles for heroic feats carried out to his detriment. He didn't offer an explanation, nor say a word as they walked, only staring straight ahead down the corridor.

When they reached his bedchamber, he opened the door to reveal Ellowyn taking dresses from a pile on the bed and hanging them in a closet that had suddenly appeared beside his own. She had stayed after her shift to help with the preparations for the ceremony, and her tiredness was now showing on her face. From what Callie could see, the dresses she was hanging were all long, exquisite gowns, beautifully constructed and embellished from the finest materials. They were the kind of gowns Callie could only dream of making were she to ever get her hands on such cloth. The only dresses Callie didn't see were her own.

She stood in place, fidgeting nervously, unsure of what to do as the King slipped off his jacket and began rummaging through his own closet to find something more casual.

"May I return to my room?" she finally asked.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye but didn't turn his head.

"You are in it," he answered.

A cold, creeping feeling trickled down her spine. "But what happened to my room?" she asked.

Now he turned more to face her as he pulled a new jacket on over his shoulders.

"As of today, you are a lady of my court," he explained, "And as such, you have official status as my mistress. There is no reason for the King's mistress to stay in a room of her own unless he already has a wife."

Callie's throat constricted as she felt her pulse picking up.

"But what about my things, my clothes?" Callie pressed, desperation tinging her voice.

"Ellowyn is currently hanging up your clothes," he replied, "As for your things…" He motioned over the nightstand where her mother's music box was sitting, miraculously restored to its original form. "They are all in one piece."

Callie shook her head, raising her voice in growing frustration. "The dresses Ellowyn has aren't the ones I usually wear," she told him, "They're all long gowns. How am I supposed to work in those?"

Now he only stared at her blankly, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"Work?" he repeated. He took a few steps towards her. "Calliope, do not think you will still be working."

Callie's breath caught in her throat rendering her speechless. His expression was devoid of any trace of humor or mirth. He was completely serious.

"Such labors are beneath your station now, as are your old dresses," he explained, "They will be either thrifted or disposed of, and you will be provided with more suitable clothing to fit your status. As my mistress, what you wear and how you spend your time is a reflection of me as well as your own position."

His words hung heavy on her like chains. Her work: it was the only thing she had left, the only thing that made her feel like her life served a purpose beyond satisfying his brutal whims. Now he was taking that too. The room seemed to close in upon her, and like a cornered animal, she felt a feral, long-repressed rage rising up in her.

"Fourteen years…" her voice trembled as she spoke, "Fourteen years I have served you, I have stayed out of your way, I have done everything your asked… Why…"

The words burst forth before she could stop them.

"Why must your take away _everything_ that has ever made my life worth living!"

No sooner did words leave her lips than she felt the impact. It took until she felt the sting upon her cheek to even register what had happened. She raised a hand to touch her face where a bruise was now beginning to form. Ellowyn had stopped hanging the dresses and was now staring at them, wide-eyed, hands clasped over her mouth. The King stood still as stone, staring down at her, his face cold, emotionless, and almost more menacing than when it showed anger.

"Ellowyn," he said calmly, "Will you give us a moment?"

Ellowyn nodded and slipped out of the room, leaving Callie to his mercy. As soon as the door clicked shut, the words came, low and dangerous.

"You dare raise your voice to me in front of my servants?" he said, "Have you lost your senses?"

As he took a step forward, Callie fell back, but he snatched her upper arm in a bruising grip.

"Your ingratitude has been wearing thin on me by the day," he growled between clenched teeth, "You have just been bestowed an honor, a title, one which you do not deserve, yet still you gripe…"

Callie felt that familiar panic take over as she struggled to free herself, but he only squeezed harder.

"So you don't wish to become an honorable lady, do you? You would prefer to remain a slave? Very well… If you wish to remain a slave, I will gladly treat you like one."

With one swift motion, he turned her, gripping the back neckline of her dress and tearing it right down the center. The bodice had been underlined with heavy coutil and ribbed with steel boning, yet still he tore through it like paper: a clear testament to his inhuman strength. Then a crystal rolled up his wrist, bursting into light the moment it touched his fingertips. In its place now was a long, black switch.

Callie whimpered and tried again to pull away, but he grabbed her by her hair and forced her down on the bed, face first. Her breathing hitched as she felt him run the switch over her exposed shoulders and down her back.

Then it came down. Again and again, cutting into her, lacerating her flesh. A cry escaped her at the first couple blows, but she managed to bite it back for the rest, squeezing her eyes shut and only cringing under the pain. She lost count of how many there were, but however many it was, he was out of breath by the time he was through.

She stayed very still. It was always her last line of defense. _Lay still. Play dead. Let him think there is nothing left to beat out of you._ She could sense him still standing there, looking at her. Then he ran his fingers over her back, causing her to wince at the sting.

"Things will only get worse for you the more you act out," he said, "Do not force my hand again."

She knew she should have just kept her mouth shut, but if she bit her tongue any harder, it was bound to come clean off.

"How could it get any worse?" she rasped out, "You have already made my life hell…"

He paused a moment before answering. "Hell is a bottomless pit, my dear," he said, pressing his fingers into one of the lacerations until she squirmed under the pain. "It can always get worse."

A few more long moments passed before she heard him turn and walk out the door, shutting it behind him.

She was struggling to push herself up from the bed, shaking so violently that her elbows buckled beneath her, when Ellowyn returned to the room.

"Lady Calliope!" Ellowyn gasped, rushing over to her.

"I'm ok," Callie said, but then she realized there were tears on her face and the shaking wouldn't stop.

Ellowyn pulled her up gingerly, concern etched into her expression as she brushed her fingers over Callie's bruised cheek.

"I'm ok…" Callie said again, but then more tears gushed forth in a torrent before she could stop them. Ellowyn slipped an arm around her waist.

"My Lady…" she whispered, "Come, please, lay down."

She helped Callie out of her ruined dress and laid her down on her stomach on the bed. Then she left the room for a moment and came back with a bowl of soapy water and a linen cloth, placing them on the nightstand. As Ellowyn soaked the cloth in the the bowl and wrung it out, Callie fixed her eyes on her mother's music box, which was now mocking her with its new-found wholeness.

"You must mind your words when you speak to the King, my Lady," she said, causing Callie to wince again as she pressed the cloth down on her back, "He is often prone to violence when angered."

"I have minded my words with him my entire life," Callie answered bitterly, "Look where it has gotten me."

She watched as Ellowyn dipped the cloth back into the bowl, wringing out the water that was now tinged rust-colored with her blood.

"Still," Ellowyn said, "it could get a lot worse."

"So I've been told," Callie muttered.

She squeezed her eyes shut as Ellowyn dabbed at the stripes on her back again with the cloth.

"Ellowyn…" Callie said, "Artemis said she would rescue me, but I don't know how much longer I can hold out…"

"Then rescue yourself and save her the trouble" Ellowyn replied curtly as she continued to clean her wounds.

"I tried to rescue myself out a window, yesterday," Callie admitted, "but I lost my nerve."

Ellowyn stilled her hands. "That's not a rescue; that's a forfeiture," she told her, "One that would be terribly unfair to Artemisia, who has put herself at great risk for you."

Callie felt the guilt upon her head like hot coals.

"I know," she said, "but… I can't bear this any longer… I'm not brave enough, I'm not strong enough."

"Do you think strength and bravery are virtues that people are simply born with?" Ellowyn asked harshly, pressing the cloth into her once more.

Callie didn't answer.

"Sometimes strength and bravery are things you must find when they are most needed," she continued, "And if you wish to be saved, you must first start thinking of yourself as someone worth saving rather than something you can just throw away so thoughtlessly."

Callie was quiet for a moment more before she spoke. "And how would you suggest I go about saving myself?" she asked.

"I can tell you already that you're going about it the wrong way," Ellowyn explained, "You're lashing out like a beast in a snare, which will only cause the trap to close in on you tighter."

She leaned in close so she could whisper into Callie's ear.

"If you truly wish to escape the King," she said, "you must first persuade him to let his guard down."

Callie furrowed her brows and tilted her head to look at her.

"Men like him," she continued, "with a weakness for women, they are not so hard to fool. And with your naturally sweet temperament, well… you wouldn't even have to resort to much cunning."

"What are you saying…?" Callie asked, the unease plain in her tone.

"I'm saying…" Ellowyn answered, "Sometimes a woman's best defense against a man like him is to feign compliance, or better yet, mutual desire."

Callie's face twisted with disgust. "I don't think I could even _pretend_ to like the things he does to me," she responded.

"I'm not saying you should," Ellowyn continued, "But perhaps if you were to submit more sweetly, act more resigned and less miserable, he would not put such restraints on you. The hunter only loosens his hold on the doe once he thinks she has stopped struggling. So let him believe that you are in need of no further conquest."

Callie was silent as she considered her words. She thought that she _had_ been acting resigned. She showed up to his room every night, she let him do what he wanted, but she also made sure he knew she wasn't happy about it. She recoiled, she turned her face away, and almost every night, when that familiar tide of shame washed over her, she wept. Perhaps she wasn't actively resisting, but she had certainly laid her misery out bare.

"I don't know…" she whispered, "I don't know if I could do it."

"You gave yourself over to the King for Artemisia's sake, didn't you?" Ellowyn answered, "Now it's time to do that same for yourself."

* * *

They had emerged from an opening in a tree so gnarled and thick and ancient, it would have taken twenty men to wrap around its entire circumference. The rest of the forest looked much the same: thick, overgrown, and untouched, the air hanging heavy with the smell of damp leaves. The music of birds and crickets and late-summer cicadas echoed all around them in stark contrast to the desolate, still deadness of the junk fields. This place was so teeming with life, it almost seemed to be breathing.

Artemisia swiped at the undergrowth and spider webs with her sword as she walked aimlessly, unsure of where to go, unsure of what to look for. She figured the best she could do was keep her eye out for any trace of human inhabitance, of which she could see none so far. Pips curled himself around the nape of her neck, hiding himself partially beneath the folds of her cloak. He appeared more apprehensive than he had been before.

"I probably should have asked this before," he said shakily, "but you're not a runner, are you?"

Artemisia raised an eyebrow. "A runner?" she questioned.

"A human who has made a deal with His Majesty to run the labyrinth in exchange for someone they have wished away." Pips explained.

"No," Artemisia answered, "I have made no such deal with the King. Why do you ask?"

He looked around nervously. "When a runner agrees to run the labyrinth, an unspoken part of the deal is that the King gets to watch them. This also allows him to… present obstacles for them at any given time," he told her. "Things did not turn out so well for the last goblins who were caught helping a runner."

Artemisia chuckled. "Well I can assure you that I'm no runner," she said, "But if you think the King wouldn't be angry to find out you're helping me, then you're sorely mistaken."

Pips tensed up apprehensively, digging his little claws into the back of her neck.

"What?" he squeaked out, "Why?"

"Well let's see…" Artemisia mused, "I deflowered his betrothed, I broke my oath of fealty to him, and now I'm on my way to conspire with another traitor so I can steal away his bride."

Pips groaned and buried his face in his paws. "But why on Earth would you do all that?" he moaned.

"Why on Earth would you agree to help a stranger in exchange for a loaf of bread for your family?" Artemisia countered.

"So you wouldn't eat me!" he exclaimed.

"And what about love?" she pressed.

He didn't answer, only grumbling under his breath.

"So you're in love with the King's bride-to-be?" he asked.

"Yes," Artemisia answered, taking a swipe at a tangle of brambles blocking her path.

He shook his head. "I was warned that you humans do stupid things for love," he griped, "I should just turn back right now and leave you to your own folly."

"If you do, and I get caught by the King, I will be sure to rat you out," she threatened.

He scowled at her, then scurried down her arm, burrowing himself into her sleeve.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Checking to see if you have anymore rodent puns up here," he answered sarcastically.

"Don't make me ferret you out…" she said with a smirk. She couldn't help that last one.

She took a swipe at a small sapling that was blocking her path but as she cut it down, she heard a low rumbling and saw the ground start to shift where it once stood. Scrambling backwards, she saw a large, reptilian beast lift its head out of the mire and turn towards her, letting out a long hiss. Then it took a few lumbering paces forward, taking with it the copse of trees and moss and tangled weeds that sprouted from its back, and after finding a place out of the way, it laid down again, camouflaging itself once again in the mud. The spot where it had been laying was now nothing but bare earth, wriggling with worms and centipedes and veined with severed roots.

Pips peaked his head out of Artemisia's sleeve as she gawked at the sight.

"Yeah…" he said, "You're going to see a lot of that around here."

* * *

Callie trudged through the morass of her thoughts the whole day. Even at supper, as she dined with him alone for the first time, she hardly said a word. She only picked at the food on her plate as she wrestled with herself and with what Ellowyn had told her. It had suddenly occurred to her that she never tried to run away in all her fourteen years of servitude, not even once. She merely accepted her fate and did as she was told. After all, she was kept warm and clean and fed. Surely that was enough. What more could she ask for?

But Artemisia had awakened in her a desire for a _life_ rather than an existence. She wanted to wake up every morning next to someone she loved, she wanted to sew pretty things for herself, she wanted to come and go as she pleased, wandering through forests and valleys and meadows. After tasting only the shadow of such a life, she could no longer live upon the mere breadcrumbs that were tossed her way.

So that night, as Ellowyn dressed her in a cream gown and wove poppies into her hair, she rehearsed over and over the words in her head. She needed to sound convincing, sincere. She had never been much of an actress, but her mother once was, so maybe she could channel some of her talent.

"What if it doesn't work?" she asked Ellowyn.

"What do you have to lose if it doesn't?" Ellowyn answered.

And with that, Callie set her resolve.

She didn't bother knocking this time. She just opened the door to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, removing his boots. He looked up at her, but in much the same way he had before he beat her: emotionless, unmoving, a quiet rage smoldering beneath the surface. Callie pressed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, looking down at the floor as she tried her best to appear contrite.

"I'm sorry," she said.

She glanced up at him to see him still regarding her quietly, but sitting up a little straighter than before. Then she dropped her eyes again.

"I know I've been acting out. It's just… everything has been changing so fast, I feel like I'm losing control, and it… it scares me."

She stole another glance, but his expression was just as chilled and unmoving as before.

"I will try my best to accept this," she murmured, "but you must understand, it isn't easy for me. It will take some time, some getting use to. So please… just be patient with me."

This time when she looked up, she held his gaze. Still, it was keen and impassive, but it seemed to have softened almost imperceptibly. Nearly everything she had said was true. She tried to keep her words sincere, knowing that there was no other way she could make them sound believable.

He sat up a little straighter now, cocking his head slightly. "Come here," he said.

Now there was no turning back. She pushed herself off the door and stepped toward him, holding his gaze in hers unflinchingly. When she finally found herself standing before him, she felt that instinctual urge to retreat, but she quickly pushed it away. Instead, she drew up her skirt and slid one knee up beside him on the bed, then the other until she was straddling his lap in much the same way she had always done with Artemisia. She saw him flinch, his once taciturn expression beginning to crack. Then, bringing a hand up to brush his face, she leaned in and kissed him.

She felt his entire body go rigid as she pressed her lips into his, gently yet firmly. Her heart thrashed wildly against her rib cage as if trying to break out. Nothing had ever felt so alien or unnatural to her in her life, and she wondered if it was just him or if she was as he had suggested: an inverted woman, drawn to her own sex but not its opposite. Still, she held the kiss for a few long moments before beginning to pull back.

But the moment he felt her pull back, he took hold of her, flipping her underneath him. The open cuts on her back burned as they pressed into the sheets but she tried to conceal her discomfort. Now he was running his hands through her hair, kissing along her jawline.

"Is this the little temptress who seduced poor Artemisia?" he whispered against her ear.

Before she could say anything, he pulled her into another kiss, much deeper this time, and far more demanding. Callie tried to maintain her composure, but she felt herself tense up involuntarily as he slipped a hand beneath her nightgown. He must have noticed, because his chest began reverberating with laughter as he broke the kiss.

"Oh, yes," he chuckled, "I can tell you're trying so hard to be good, but your aren't quite there yet, are you?"

He grinned at her wolfishly, his teeth appearing even sharper than usual.

"Fear not, my love," he murmured, "I will get you there."

It took everything she had, but this time she did not shrink away, she did not tremble, and though she felt that overwhelming urge to weep, she held it at bay. Afterwards, the thought occurred to her that the only way to survive this would be to split herself in two. She had let him see too much of her, let him see exactly how to hurt her and how much. But if she was to survive, if she was to get out, she would have to hide the Callie who was small, frightened, and irreparably wounded behind the Callie who could stare into the abyss and never turn away, the Callie who could dance with the devil and not compromise her soul. That Callie was a stranger to her, almost completely unknown, but now she was her only hope for salvation. Perhaps that was just the way such things must be done. Perhaps that was the very definition of bravery.


	12. As the World Falls Down

**A/N: Ok, so I know things just got weird. Fear not, this will not be one of those stories where the heroine falls falls in love with her abuser. I hate those kinds of stories just as much as the next dyke, so it certainly won't be one of those. That being said, Callie is in survival mode now, and it only seems fitting that she would resort to such means. Please don't hate me. Not everything is what it seems…**

 **As the World Falls Down**

The next morning she woke with a start when she felt the sting of him brushing his fingers over the stripes on her back. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, neither of them said a word. Then he drew his hand away quickly.

"I will have Ellowyn apply a salve to that before she leaves today," he said.

She wasn't entirely sure, but she could have sworn she heard a tinge of remorse in his voice.

He had breakfast brought to the room and they sat across from each other at the small table by the window. To anyone who didn't know any better, they would have appeared an ordinary husband and wife rather than a captor and his captive.

"Eat," he said as a plate was set before her, "You are getting too skinny. Your clothes hardly fit you anymore."

Again, she was taken aback by his sudden concern for her well-being, which just days before, seemed hardly a concern at all. Then, as they ate, he explained to her that her new position afforded her more freedom to move about the castle.

"You may go anywhere you like," he said, "so long as it is within the castle walls."

Though grateful for this small liberty, she wanted to tell him that the only place she longed to go within the castle walls was back to the atelier, where, for a few short hours, she could lose herself in her work. But she still felt the lashes smarting on her back and she didn't need any new ones, so instead she just thanked him and forced herself to finish her food.

After she bathed, Ellowyn did indeed apply a salve to her back and dress the wounds so that they would not stick to the fabric of her clothes. Then she robed her in a steel blue gown embroidered with scarlet and turquoise hummingbirds and arranged her hair around a pair of peach-colored roses. Afterwards she left to return home to her family as Callie took advantage of her relative new freedom by wandering the castle.

Besides the King's apartments and the gardens, she had always been confined to either the working quarters or the servants' living quarters, where her and Artemisia's rooms were located. The rest of the castle was just as shrouded in mystery as everything outside of it. The first thing she noticed was all the other people. When the King spoke of his court, she thought he was speaking in a sort of abstracted sense, seeing as she had never encountered any courtiers. But now she saw them, floating through the halls, wispy and willowy in their grace, impeccably dressed, the women drawing long trains behind them, the men in their tailored finery. Like the King and Ellowyn, they were humanoid in form, but retained an air of otherworldly beauty that prevented them from appearing truly human. As Callie passed among them, some of them looked at her, whispering among themselves, flashing bemused smiles her way. She ignored them. Whatever world they belonged to, she had no desire to be a part of it.

As she wandered further into the heart of the castle, the rooms unfolded before her like a series of catacombs, revealing more an more curiosities the further she went. One room was nothing but a series of stairs, leading every direction, including sideways and upside down, with no apparent destination. It vaguely reminded Callie of an art print her mother used to keep in her bedroom. Another was laid out like a giant chess board, but on one side emerged white fish, popping up from the floor in a detailed marble relief, and on the other side, black birds created the same effect. Their shapes met together in the middle in a perfect flat tessellation. He seemed to like things like that: games, puzzles, anything he could solve, anything he could master. The cold, mathematical precision of it seemed all too becoming of him.

The next room was a library, enormous in size, stacked to the top with shelves upon shelves of books on multiple levels. Attached to each stack was a series of ladders—some vertical, some horizontal, some diagonal—forming their own strange pathways up and around the shelves. Callie wandered through, occasionally pulling a book from the shelf and leafing through its pages. Some were written in languages she'd never seen before, others contained beautiful, gold-leafed illuminations, others contained detailed ink illustrations with subjects ranging from great works of literature to historical events to lewd pornographic depictions. She shelved them away and continued her wandering. Though the path through the library lead naturally through a door at the far end, Callie found her curiosity peaked by a smaller, more obscured door down the second-to-last rows of shelves.

It was old, wooden, almost shoddy-looking, but Callie turned the handle and went in anyway. It was nearly pitch black inside, but she found a taper and a box of matches sitting on a small table by the entrance, which she lit and continued on. She found herself walking down a long, narrow hallway before she finally reached the room that the door concealed. What she found there both intrigued and disturbed her.

It could have been a shrine the way it was laid out, an alter, strewn with various, seemingly, unrelated artifacts. Some looked like stuffed toys, others looked like brushes and cosmetics from a woman's boudoir, others were jewelry and headpieces, and in the midsts of it all was a lectern propping up a little, red book. But what drew her attention most was that which hovered right above it all: a voluminous, white ballgown, silvery-white as a specter hanging over the alter like a crucifix in a chapel. It appeared very much like—too much like—the dress worn by the figurine in her mother's music box, and for a moment she beheld it in breathless awe. Then she gradually drew her attention to the little, red book.

She approached it hesitantly and held the taper close so she could read the gold lettering on the cover.

 _Labyrinth._

Her heart began pounding as she picked it up and started leafing through its pages.

 _Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, young girl whose stepmother always made her stay home with the baby. And the baby was a spoiled child, and he wanted everything for himself, and the young girl was practically a slave._

 _Slave._ Her eyes lingered on the word, hesitating before allowing her eyes to continue on to the next line.

 _But what no one knew was that the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl, and he had given her certain powers…_

Her heart seized as she recalled her conversation with the King just a few nights previously. _I gave her a story she might want a part of, a story she_ did _want a part of._ That's when it dawned on her: it was hers. All of it was hers.

She closed the book and put it back on the lectern, then turned to retreat back down the corridor when something else in the room caught her eye. It was shoved under a chair in the far corner—she didn't know how it had even caught her attention—but slowly she knelt down and drew it out.

Her dress. The first one Artemisia had ever taken off her, the one the King had stolen that same day, she had nearly forgotten about it, but here it was. She gazed upon it mournfully, caressing the worn muslin, fingering the cut-work embroidery at the neckline. She held it to her chest tenderly, that precious relic of who she once was, as she stood slowly and made her way out of that room of phantoms. Upon returning to the King's bedchamber, she hid the dress deep in the recesses of her closet, hanging it underneath one of her finer gowns to conceal it.

She knew now how she would escape, but she also knew she would have to wait. If she didn't get the timing right, the plan would fall through and she may never get another opportunity. So she would have to bide her time over the next week, working through it, making use of that "naturally sweet temperament" Ellowyn had eluded to

At dinner that night, she did as she had seen her mother do so many times before with her father and asked him about his day. He seemed taken aback, suspicious even, but he told her and, perhaps out of nothing more than customary politeness, he asked her about her own. The conversation went no further than that, but it was cordial enough for Callie to count it as a victory.

Then later in the bedroom, his demeanor seemed to have changed entirely from what it once was. He did not drag her, pull her hair, or hold her throat. He was coaxing, gentle almost, and though it didn't make it any less distasteful to Callie, she wondered how it was that just a single kiss could change a man over night. Afterward, as he held her close, stroking her hair like a lover, she could almost sense from him that same loneliness she had experienced for so many years before meeting Artemisia. Although his dark embraces only served to smother her, for a brief moment, she felt a sprout of empathy creeping up through the cracks in her hatred.

Each subsequent night passed just as strangely, his aggression held at bay by each yielding affectation she put on, like a wolf appeasing another with a white flash of belly. There were even a few nights when he didn't even carry it out, only falling asleep beside her with his arm over her. But by the end of the week, she had him nuzzling his leonine head into her lap as she stroked his long tresses like a tamed beast. It was then that she knew she could make her next move.

The next morning, she had Ellowyn dress her a gown of white satin, with a bright crimson stomacher and crimson inlaid into the deep box pleats of the skirt. He always seemed to like her in white and, according to Ellowyn's insights, men always liked red. She wove her hair with poppies again and applied rouge to her lips and her cheeks. Then she slipped a pair of red satin shoes upon Callie's feet and squeezed her hand.

"Good luck," she whispered as Callie stepped out into the hall and began making her way toward the throne room.

He hadn't been expecting her; she knew he wouldn't have been. As the guards drew back the doors to allow her entrance, she relished the look of astonishment upon his face as he beheld her. The grotesque throng of horned and armored goblins parted like the Red Sea as she approached and though she held her head high and proud, she wore a mask of demure reservation. When she reached the center of the mosaic before his throne, she curtsied deeply, the skirt of her gown pooling around her, the pleats splayed open to reveal their slashes of red.

"Your Majesty," she said, still low to the ground, her head still bent, "I have come to ask that you grant me a boon should you find me so deserving."

The surrounding assemblage broke into a flurry of whispers and, for a few long moments, that was all that was heard. The King shifted in his seat, drumming his fingers against the armrest.

"What is this boon you ask and I will determine whether or not it is deserved," he responded.

She rose only after hearing his voice, and even then, she kept her head bowed, eyes lowered, hands folded neatly in front of her.

"I have come to ask if Your Majesty would allow me to make my own gown for the ball on Samhain," she said.

The whispers instantly turned to storm of noisy chatter and the King raised his hand to quiet the room.

"We have already discussed this, Calliope," he replied cooly, "Such labors are beneath your station now."

"If such labors are performed as a means of employment, yes," Callie conceded, "But what if they are done for their own sake? For pleasure?"

She raised her eyes now to meet his for the briefest moment before dropping them back down.

"There is many an honorable lady who sews for her own enjoyment, if only to pass the idle hours," she argued, "I do not ask to enter into a trade, only that you allow me to sew for myself at my own leisure."

The King remained silent for a long while as he considered this, still drumming his fingers, his eyes trained on her. Callie raised her gaze ever so slightly to see that he was wearing one of his long cloaks with fur trim around the collar. She could also see that he was distracted, not just by his own thoughts, but by the very sight of her. When she detected that look of hunger in his eyes, she decided to push her boldness a little further.

"Please, sire, I implore you," she said taking a few more steps toward him.

She knelt upon the dais at his feet, bowing her head as she took hold of the bottom of his cloak.

"You may decide the fabric, the color, the cut of whatever gown I make," she continued, "only please allow me to practice this art I so love."

At that, she lifted the edge of his cloak and pressed it against her lips, making herself the very picture of humility as a hush fell over the whole room.

She kept her head bowed until he leaned down, cupping her face in his hand and tilting it up so she could look at him. There was suddenly a warmth to his eyes that she had rarely ever seen.

"Under the condition that the design meets my approval," he intoned, "you may make your own gown for the ball. I will see to it that a room is made up for that very purpose tomorrow."

A flood of relief washed over Callie.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she whispered, pressing her hand over his, "You have my gratitude."

She met his eyes, smiling warmly at him, holding her hand over his for a few short moments before bowing her head and backing away slowly.

She sunk once more into a deep curtsey before turning to exit the room.

After that, she swore never to doubt Ellowyn's wisdom again.

* * *

He stayed true to his word. A room had been prepared for her the next day, and he walked with her through the corridors, escorting her there himself. When they reached their destination, he pulled out a key and turned it in the lock, pushing open the door to present it to her.

It was the atelier of her dreams: the sewing machine, black and swanlike, painted with decorative gold scrollwork; the cutting table, tall and broad, laid out with gridded mats; a dress form exactly her size; bolts upon bolts of silks, wools, linings, underlinings, crinolines, muslin; rolls of pattern paper; every tool, ruler, or cutting implement she might need hanging upon the wall. And the light. The windows arched so high and open, they allowed the entire room to fill with light. Callie took it all in in a state of breathless awe.

"Will this suffice?" he asked.

"Yes," Callie breathed, "This will do nicely."

She turned, bowed her head, and curtsied to him.

"Thank you again, Your Majesty," she told him sincerely.

He didn't have much of a taste for formality when they were alone, so he took hold of her chin, tilting her head back up to draw her into a kiss. Callie let him and even smiled at him as he pulled away, resuming her role as the adoring mistress.

"Get to work," he said, "You have three weeks to Samhain."

And work she did. The days melted into one another as she draped, cut, drafted, stitched, watching piece after piece come together into a cohesive wholeness. By the end of the week she almost had a complete gown of ombre satin, fading from dark navy at the top of the bodice to champagne gold toward the hem of the skirt. Over the course of the next week, she would stitch little flying insects into the darker portions of the silk in contrasting gold beadwork. The ball on Samhain was to be a masquerade, all of its attendants imitating every beast of the field and fowl of the air, though Callie had a feeling she would be the only firefly there. A firefly: it was his idea, the only demand he made upon the design. He had commissioned a mask of matching navy wrought with gold filigree, a diaphanous fan of glossy insect wings to brush against her cheeks. It was a good thing that the mask was dark and opaque, she'd decided. It would have to stay on the whole night.

Though she had been so energized and driven throughout the day, she felt an odd sense of fatigue come over her as Ellowyn arranged her hair that last night of the first week. She felt completely off, though she didn't know why. The flowers that night were stargazer lilies, and even as they laid out of reach upon the vanity, Callie felt overwhelmed by every intake of their scent. As Ellowyn trimmed them and began pinning them into her hair, it suddenly became so unbearably potent that a surge of nausea seized Callie's stomach and she pushed Ellowyn's hand away.

"Is everything alright?" Ellowyn asked.

Callie shook her head, holding a hand to her mouth.

"The smell…" she said, "It's too strong. It's making me feel sick."

"The smell?" Ellowyn's brows furrowed with concern, "And you're feeling sick?"

Callie nodded, and Ellowyn slowly dropped her hands by her side. She stared at Callie silently for a moment, not saying a word.

Finally she asked "Lady Calliope, do you remember when your last cycle was?"

Callie's blood froze in her veins. She slowly lifted her head to reveal a look of horrific realization upon her face. She didn't remember. It had been so long that she didn't even remember. She met Ellowyn's gaze and slowly shook her head.

Another long pause.

"I will fetch the physician," Ellowyn said.

"No! Ellowyn, please don't!" Callie cried, grabbing hold of her arm.

The dread consumed her. She didn't want to know. She didn't want the doctor to come and confirm her single greatest fear, the worst thing that could possibly be happening right now. Ellowyn looked down at her piteously, but drew her arm away and went.

The physician came. He examined her, asked her questions, took samples. Afterward he stepped out into the hall and spoke to the King in private. All the while, Callie sat on the bed in her sage green nightgown, staring at the floor as the world fell down around her. Soon the physician departed and the King returned to the room. She knew what he was going to say before he even said it.

"You're about four weeks along."

Callie closed her eyes, sinking into the devastation.

"We will keep things quiet for now," he continued, "But I will announce our engagement at the ball on Samhain, then plan the ceremony for the following month."

Callie said nothing. She couldn't even look at him. He approached her and gently brushing his fingers over the top of her head.

"I know I haven't always been kind to you," he said, "but I will strive harder now to show you the respect due to you as the mother of my child."

He knelt down in front of her, cupping her face in his hand. She turned away from him.

"If you would like to respect me as the mother of your child, you can start tonight by leaving me alone," she said.

Her voice was hollow, her eyes narrow and spiteful. He was clearly not pleased by her response, but he pulled his hand away and stood up.

"As you wish," he said.

He put out the lamp and crawled into the bed beside her, turning his back to her. Callie laid awake almost the whole night, clutching her belly, her mind oscillating between despair and rage and grief. It must have been one of those first nights—one of those first horrible nights— that her body betrayed her and allowed such an intruder to take root inside her. And no matter how she starved herself, how poorly she slept, how much alcohol she consumed, the root held like the pincers of a parasite. Soon it would grow bigger, like a cancer, like a tumor, and then it would come out and start making its own demands. It would tie her eternally to him, to what he did to her, to her own pitiful weakness, and she would never be able to outrun it.

* * *

They would find clues here and there—the remains of a campfire, an old piece of jewelry, a forgotten knife—but nothing concrete and certainly not another person. Pips was convinced that all their searching was in vain.

"Most people aren't stupid enough to even come here, let alone live here," Pips explained. "Even the King avoids coming here."

 _"_ Does he?" Artemisia mused, "Well, that's good to hear."

"The reason why isn't so good to hear," Pips continued, "It's called the Forest of the Fieries for a reason. The place is infested with them."

"And are they dangerous?" Artemisia asked.

"Incredibly," Pips answered, "They have a fascination with dismemberment… They enjoy taking things apart, especially people. I believe you have another name for them in the human world: Furies."

 _The Furies._ Artemisia had definitely heard of them before. The vengeful demon nymphs of the god Bacchus and their orgiastic rituals of violence. She had to repress a shudder as she thought of encountering one of them.

Another week has passed and Artemisia was coming to her wit's end. She was running low on her stores, most of which she gave to Pips, so she had to resort to hunting rabbits and fishing to keep herself fed. There were at least plenty of fresh water sources around, which she was thankful for, seeing as she thought she might die of dehydration in the junkfields when her canteen began running low. But the place was also full of traps: camouflaged beasts, trees that moved, pits that looks like piles of leaves. Pips was well-acquainted with the perils and usually warned her before she could fall victim to them, but she still had a number of close calls. She had considered herself lucky that she hadn't yet had a run-in with the inhabitants for which the forest was named, but by the next morning her luck ran out.

Pips was still asleep on her shoulder as she wove through the trees with her bow, keeping an eye out for her breakfast, when she spotted something nearby in the brush. It didn't look like an animal, but she moved closer to it, thinking it might be a promising clue as to the Exile's whereabouts. But as she squinted to look at it, turning it over with her foot, the cold realization of what it really was struck her.

A human skull with half the spinal column still attached, but the rest of the body no where to be found. But even that she ended up finding when she stumbled backwards, crying out in surprise, and stepped through the ribcage. She shook it off her foot with disgust and stumbled back again into a tree. That's when she heard the knocking begin.

 **A/N: Thank you so much to Laura for your review and kind words. Chapter 10 was definitely one of my favorite to write. There will be another creepy Jareth conversation in chapter 13 to look forward to.**


	13. Blood of the Innocent

**A/N: Did I mention that I wrote this story to be pretty dark? If you aren't at least somewhat disturbed by the end of this chapter, then I haven't done my job.**

 **Blood of the Innocent**

 **"** The wounds are healing quite nicely now," Ellowyn told her as she rubbed the cool salve over her back.

Callie said nothing in response. She hadn't uttered a single word since the night before, not to the King or anyone else. The fact of her nicely-healing wounds was cold comfort to her knowing now that the one who dealt them was to be the father of her child. Her child… How could she even call it _her_ child? It had not been conceived; it had been inflicted upon her along with everything else.

Ellowyn had dressed the wounds again and was now brushing her hair. With each stroke of the bristles, Callie felt her unspoken rage building slowly and steadily beneath the surface of her stillness. When it finally broke through, she snatched the brush out of Ellowyn's hand and threw it full force at the mirror, causing Ellowyn jumped back in alarm as it splintered into a starburst of fractures.

"I don't want it…" Callie said, an enraged tremor breaking her voice. "I want to scrape it out… I want it out of me!"

Ellowyn regarded her calmly, that same knowing look in her eyes as Callie had seen the night she offered her the flask.

"Do you imagine that you would scrape out the pain along with it?" Ellowyn asked.

"No," Callie replied, "But I don't care… He's forced himself inside me enough as it is."

Her voice was harsh, haggard, cracking like the spiderweb in the mirror. Her hands were gripping her hair, poised to tear it out the way she wished to tear out her very womb.

"What have I done?" she continued, "What could I have done to deserve any of this?"

"Deserve?" Ellowyn repeated incredulously, "My dear, you seem to be under the impression that life gives us only what we deserve. Nothing could be further from the truth."

"Then why does it feel like everything in my life is conspiring to make me suffer as much as possible?" Callie asked through gritted teeth.

Ellowyn took a few steps forward, then bent to pick the brush up from the floor.

"Suffering is just the natural order of the world," she explained as she calmly set the brush back down on the vanity, "It is by no means an anomaly. Life deals everyone different hands, but the one thing they all share in common is that they all promise suffering in varying degrees."

Callie turned her head sharply and cast Ellowyn a venomous scowl.

"Then I should have thrown myself out that goddamn window when I had the chance!" she snapped, "What's the point? If we're all just going to suffer pointlessly until we die, why bother living at all?"

Ellowyn paused a long moment before answering. "Because…" she said, "if you endure it long enough, bravely enough, and you don't let it destroy you, you will find things in this life worth carrying that burden for."

Callie turned away and looked down at the floor, but Ellowyn knelt down in front of her, taking hold of both her hands and squeezing them gently.

"Maribelle is not my husband's child," she said, as if in confession.

Callie allowed her eyes to flick up and meet her gaze.

"She was conceived long before I met him, while I was still a maid in my employers household. As soon as I started to show, my employer threw me out, not wishing to deal with the burden of a bastard child."

Callie saw it again in her eyes, that kinship in suffering.

"No one would hire a pregnant maid, so I prostituted myself as long as I could to stay off the streets," Ellowyn continued, "But once I got too big, I could not even support myself by those means anymore. I had to resort to begging and stealing. It was the darkest time of my life. Like you, I did not think it was possible to experience anything but misery again."

Her eyes softened and a smile touched upon the corners of her mouth.

"Then I met Artemisia," she said, "She found me begging outside the castle and took pity on me. I remember how cold it was that day, and how she took off her own cloak and wrapped it around me so I would not freeze. Then she took me into the castle and found me a job as the King's chambermaid. She procured me a room in the servants' quarters, and when I had Maribelle, she hired a nurse at her own expense to care for her so that I could continue working."

Callie could see her eyes become glassy as she finished that last statement.

"So you see?" she said, "That is why you must carry on: because you are blessed to be loved by such a woman, and so you must never take her for granted."

Tears sprung into Callie's own eyes now as she gave voice to a fear she never dared utter aloud.

"But what if Artemis doesn't want me back?" Callie whispered, "After what he's done… and with this child…How could she want me back?"

"You are the same Callie that she left to seek the Exile for," Ellowyn told her, "Nothing he has done has changed that. And as for the child… Artemisia has always been very good with children…"

Callie threw her arms around Ellowyn and buried her face into her shoulder. She felt like she had still been dangling from that rooftop and Ellowyn built a scaffolding up to meet her feet. She let the tears fall until nothing was left but a dull ache in her chest, then she pulled away and met Ellowyn's gaze once more.

"Ellowyn," she said softly, "You said once that I could come to you if I needed anything."

"Of course," Ellowyn said.

"There is just one thing I will need you to do for me…" Callie said.

Ellowyn smiled. "Anything," she said, "Name it, and it will be done."

* * *

The syncopated knocking seemed to be coming from every direction. Artemisia immediately drew her sword and looked up into the branches of the trees, which were rustling and dropping leaves, waking Pips in the process. He looked around and bewilderment as the knocking continued, then Artemisia felt him tense up, digging his little claws into her neck.

"Run!" he squeaked, "It's them!"

Before she even had time to react, he leapt from her shoulder and darted away between the trees, leaving her alone in the clearing. Then, just as she attempted to bolt away herself, she heard a shrieking laughter right above her head.

There were four of them, and they all leapt down at once to surround her. They were lanky with sharp, beak-like mouths, covered in red feathers, and they were staring at her with crazed, roving eyes.

"Hey, lady," One said in a shrill voice, "Take off your head!"

Artemisia immediately swung at him with her sword, hoping to cut him through the middle. She was successful, but not in the way she had hoped. His abdomen separated in two for but a moment but then reconnected as if it had never been severed. For a moment she could only gawk at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

Another took advantage of her state of shock to snatch the back of her cloak, pulling her down. While they looked skinny, they were surprisingly strong.

"That wasn't nice," he chided, "He only wants to see you without your head."

Artemisia swung again, this time knocking its legs from underneath him, which again, separated from his body, easily and bloodlessly. As she scrambled to pull herself up, the third came up behind her and wrapped his arms under her chin as the other two grabbed her legs.

"We can take it off for you," he said.

Artemisia dropped her sword in her panic as she tried to pry his arms away from her neck, but they wouldn't budge. The three of them began to pull in opposite directions with all their might, as if attempting to literally tear her head away from her body. As she struggled, she heard an unfamiliar voice cry out.

"Throw their heads!"

She didn't look around to see who it was. She followed the orders according to their literal meaning: reaching up and snatching the head of the creature above her. It came away from its body with ease, and she threw it off in the opposite direction, causing its remainder to let go of her neck and run away after it. Then she reached down to the two at her feet and did the same to the same effect. She snatched up her sword as she stood herself upright, then for good measure, booted away the head of the forth one who was still struggling to reattach his legs.

Looking up in the direction of the voice, she saw a dwarf standing upon the hill, holding an ax and carrying a satchel of firewood. The wrinkles in his face were like deep scars, his eyebrows were bushy and greying. He nodded at her, then turning away wordlessly, began to descend back down the hill.

"Hey!" Artemisia called after him, sheathing her sword clumsily as she rushed up the hill after him.

By the time she caught up to him, she was out of breath.

"Thank you," she said, "You saved my ass back there."

He barely tilted his head to look up at her, but she could see nothing but irritation in his expression.

"They wanted your head, not your ass," he replied, still looking straight ahead. "And if you weren't dumb enough to come in these woods by yourself, it wouldn't need savin'"

"I had a friend with me," Artemisia explained, "but he bolted when the Fieries showed up."

"Some friend," he commented.

"My name is Artemisia," she said, ignoring the comment. "I'm in here looking for the Exile. You wouldn't happen to be him, would you?"

He swung his ax at a clump of brush that stood in their path.

"I ain't no exile," he grouched, "I'm Hoggle, and I'm here of my own free will."

"But you are the goblin who helped the Champion to the center of the Labyrinth, aren't you?" Artemisia pressed.

"What's it to you?" he asked, continuing on.

Artemisia swung around in front of him, blocking his path.

"Please," she said, "I need to you to help me get in contact with the Champion. It's important."

"You're barking up the wrong tree, missy, " he told her.

"Look, I know you've been in touch with her. If anyone can help me it's you," she said.

"I can't do nothin' for you," he insisted.

"Please," Artemisia begged, "It's regarding her daughter. I'm trying to send her home."

He went quite and looked up at her with a mixed look of exasperation and pity. Then he walked over to a tree and pressed into a knot with his hand, causing an opening to spring open in another tree nearby.

"Come in," he said, "I've got some things to explain to you about the Champion and her daughter."

* * *

Callie still had work to do on the gown, but she wasn't feeling up to it. She wandered the halls, deep in her despondency. Even after her conversation with Ellowyn, that aching feeling was still lodged in her chest, that dread for what was to come. Even with all her schemes and plans, nothing seemed certain anymore. Even if she escaped, even if she found Artemisia, what then? How could she undo everything that had been done?

As she passed the room of stairs she fantasized about throwing herself down them. She'd heard that was one way to force an unwanted child out. But what would he do when he found out? Beat her, rape her, put another one there to take its place? She could still not see beyond the hopelessness of it all. She needed guidance.

When she reached the library, she found that small obscure door at the end of the rows. She went inside, lit the taper, and walked down the narrow passage. When she reached the room with the shrine, she stopped before the alter, staring up at that beautiful, empty, angelic gown, almost feeling the urge to drop to her knees and pray. Then her eyes fell upon the book, still cradled in the lectern. Maybe there was something in it, some hint, some magic words that would somehow bring this whole nightmare to an end.

Callie stepped up to the altar and reached out her hand to pick up the book, but just as she began to lift it, his voice hit her with a jolt.

"I think you know you aren't supposed to be in here."

The book dropped from her hands as she started and spun around to face him. He was almost completely obscured by shadows, but a candelabra on the table flared up at the snap of his fingers.

Callie only stood there, staring at him, clutching her candle. She didn't try to offer him an explanation; she didn't feel like she needed to. She didn't feel like she owed him anything anymore.

He stood from his chair and approached. Callie stood her ground, watching him in her cool gaze as he drew nearer. But he only came over and stood next to her, looking up at the gown that hung over the alter like he was gazing upon a divine icon.

"That was the gown your mother wore when she danced with me at her first ball," he told her. His voice came from a faraway place of nostalgia.

"When did my mother go to a ball with _you_?" Callie asked. Her bitterness hung on her words, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

"Only in her dreams," he replied.

"Dreams or nightmares?" Callie sniped.

He dropped his nostalgic haze and flicked his eyes toward her.

"So I see you are still angry with me," he said.

Callie held him in a spiteful glower but didn't answer.

"Be angry with me as much as you'd like," he said, "but believe it or not, this is exactly what your body was designed for."

"Of course!" Callie scoffed, "Since you took me away, you've always believed that my body was designed for your purposes."

His eyes narrowed. "May I remind you that you were never 'taken away'? You came here of your own free will."

"No," Callie snapped, "you may _not_ remind me! I have absolutely no recollection of it because you took _that_ away too!"

"A mercy, I assure you," he answered.

"I don't believe you're capable of mercy," she retorted.

He chuckled bitterly. "You would if you knew…"

Callie turned an took a few steps toward him, scowling up at him.

"Then tell me," she demanded. "As your mistress, as your bride-to-be, as the mother of your child, tell me how this all came to be."

He remained silent for a moment, holding her his impassive gaze before a smile touched the corners of his mouth and he shrugged.

"Very well," he said, "I will tell you. But only know that once such precious ignorance is gone, it can never be recovered."

He held up a clenched fist and opened it slowly, revealing a glowing sphere in his palm.

"The night before I found you, you were catching fireflies…"

* * *

It was the perfect sanctuary: a cozy, underground hovel built into the root system of a tree in the middle of that chaotic wood. It was no wonder the King never found him.

Hoggle invited her to sit down at the table as he pulled out two glasses and a bottle of strong-smelling, amber liquor. He poured the liquid into each glass and set one of them before Artemisia.

"Here," he said, "You'll need it by the time I'm through."

He sat down at the table and immediately threw back the liquor in his own glass before refilling it again.

"You're right," he said, "I was once in contact with the Champion, but I still can't help you."

Artemisia slammed down her fist in frustration.

"Why not?" she demanded, "If you could contact her once, you can contact her again!"

"It don't work that way," he answered, "Sarah had to call on me. I couldn't just show up whenever I wanted. And over time, she called less often. She became a wife, a mother. She didn't have time for me. The last time we spoke, it was only after…"

He looked at Artemisia with an unsettled expression.

"Why don't you drink some of that?" he told her, motioning toward her glass.

"Only after what?" Artemisia pressed, not taking her eyes off of him.

He sighed, tapping the side of his glass with his finger.

"After the death of her daughter."

* * *

As he spoke, the memories came flooding back to Callie, as if his very words broke down the dam he had built in her mind to seal them off.

"I had been watching you for a long while before that, and I had noticed that it was one of your greatest joys: chasing those little fragments of light through the darkness. It was my first insight into your true nature," he told her.

Callie could see everything, her house, the backyard, the swing set, all backing up right into the woods where her mother never let her wander by herself. She could see the lightning bugs, feel her own excitement as she caught them one by one in her little grasping hands and sealed them away in that jar sparkling with the condensation of lights.

"But that night, I watched more carefully," he said, "for I could smell it in the air, your fate, your doom, tripping about so carelessly in the dark, completely unaware of the predator that lurked nearby."

Callie remembered her seven-year-old self staring off into the woods as she clutched her jar, gazing greedily upon the fireflies that glowed in denser clusters within the trees. It was twilight, but not yet completely dark, and after that fight with her mother, she didn't want to go in quite yet.

"Into the woods you went," he continued, "and I followed. You were not quite within my reach, but I could sense one nearby who hungered for the blood of the innocent, and I knew that he would deliver you to me. All I had to do was wait."

She could see herself, stumbling through the leaves and the brush among the trees, grasping for the little insects. She stopped and peered into her jar. She must have caught hundreds! Then she looked up and saw the campfire nearby.

"It was one of those moments where the stars lined up and the perfect predator met the perfect prey under the most perfect conditions."

Callie approached. She didn't see the man there at first. She was only drawn to the light, the warmth. Like a moth to a flame, as the saying goes. But when he hurt her, she thought must she had done something wrong, something to make him angry at her. The more he hurt her, the worse she thought her crime. Why else would he be doing this to her? What had she done to so infuriate him?

She didn't know then what he was doing, but she knew now. She knew it all too well. And when he was done, she remembered him standing up and pouring that liquid on her—the kind her father always used for the grill—then leaning down to run a sharp blade over her throat. The last thing she remembered before it all went black was the man lighting a match and tossing the flame down to meet her.

The King was grinning at her now, still holding the orb which caught her haunted expression in its glow.

"It's all coming back to you now, isn't it?"

* * *

Artemisia was dumbstruck by shock and confusion.

"But the Champion's daughter _isn't_ dead," Artemisia told him. "She's at the castle right now. She's just as alive as you or me."

Hoggle gazed at her mournfully, not saying anything at first. Then he bowed his head and peered into his glass.

"That's just it," he said. "Things are not always what they seem here."

* * *

"You see," the King continued, "some deaths are so traumatic that they cause the human psyche to fragment completely, especially a child's. Children have not yet learned to cope with the world's darkness, with all it's tragedy and malice, and so it shocks them. Like a hot piece of glass dropped in cold water, it shocks them and they shatter."

Callie remembered waking up. She remembered hearing the birds, seeing the trees all around her, seeing the heaped ash from the campfire. Then she looked down and saw the charred remains of… what was it? An animal? A doll? She didn't know, but she didn't like it. She stood up and looked around, trying to find her bearings, but she couldn't remember where she was. That's when she turned and saw him. She remembered marveling at how beautiful he was, bedecked in birch white and silver, wondering if he was an angel.

"You looked so lost and bewildered when you saw me. I could see the hope in your eyes that someone was there to finally bring you home. That's when I knew I had you."

 _Are you lost?_ he had asked. She shook her head. _Did you run away from home?_ he asked. She nodded. _Won't your mother be angry with you?_ She immediately recalled what her mother had said to her as she threw her jar of fireflies away in the trash. She remembered pulling it back out, feeling so hurt and dejected from the depths of her seven-year-old soul. Even as a child she had been hypersensitive, brought down easily by a cutting word. She took everything to heart like a bullet, believing only the worst things about herself. _I don't think my mother wants me anymore_ she said.

"I offered to take you with me. Note the word ' _offered.'_ You always had a choice, though I always knew which one you'd make. You did not feel worthy to return to the Source. You feared it would reject you as you thought your mother had done. You lied to yourself for so long that it was the only thing that you felt for certain to be true."

 _If your mother doesn't want you, you are always welcome to come with me_ he told her. He opened his hand and a glowing orb drifted up from it, blinking like a firefly. Callie was completely transfixed. _I am a King of a faraway land_ he told her _and you may come away with me to my kingdom._ He smiled down at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world… The last thing she remembered was taking his hand as the light from the orb engulfed them completely.

"Human souls are much the same to me as those fireflies were to you," he said, closing the orb in his hand until the light snuffed out, "Some I catch only to release them again into my garden, while others I seal tightly in a jar so I can look at them whenever I want."

He regarded her darkly now, hungrily, a look she had seen many times before. Callie stood motionless, staring at the ground as she struggled to process everything she had just been told.

"So that means…" she said, "I can never go home again."

He laughed. "Had you been entertaining that as a possibility?" he mocked, "Ever the optimist, aren't we?"

She clenched her fist, her entire body now shaking with fury. She turned towards him with tears of rage forming in her eyes.

"You are just like him…" she snarled, "Far worse than him. He only ended my life, but you stole it right out from under me! You stalked me, you watched what he did to me, and then when I was most vulnerable, you manipulated me. You're a monster! A predator!"

"Yes!" he hissed, circling around her, backing her into the altar. "That's _exactly_ what I am! That is what anyone with any sense in this world is: a predator. Look through your history, civilization upon civilization, built by predators. Alexander the Great, Julius Ceasar, Genghis Khan, all predators. Only the most brutal prosper while the meek and humble live at their feet. That is the way of nature, just as our union, distasteful as you may find it, is the way of nature."

He took hold of her chin and forced it up so he could meet her eyes.

"I know you hate me. It is only natural that you should hate me," he said, "There is no mouse that doesn't hate the owl, no gazelle that doesn't hate the lion. But you should count yourself lucky: for you have found favor with the master of all predators, and therefore, will be subjected to no other predations but my own."

He forced her back against the altar as he kissed her, pinning her down upon its surface among her mother's childhood relics, beneath her mother's white husk hovering overhead. But this time Callie fought. She kicked, she clawed at his face, she screamed. She fought harder than she ever had in her life. She knew it was a losing battle, but all that seemed to matter was that she fought it to the end. And in the end, he won again, but she took satisfaction in the fact that it was not an easy victory.

As she limped down the hall towards the atelier, she could tell that he had made her bleed again, she could feel the throbbing knot near her temple where he had struck her, she could feel the bruises on her arms where he gripped her. None of it mattered. She still had a lot of work to do. She only had two weeks left before Samhain.


	14. Execution

**Execution**

Artemisia eventually did tip back that glass of brown liquor after he finished his explanation.

"I can't even wrap my head around this," she said, "I was raised on the idea of an afterlife, but not anything like this."

Hoggle tilted the bottle to refill her glass again.

"It's not really an afterlife," he said, "I mean, yeah, you continued your life here after it ended there. But it's different. You're still mortal here, you just don't age as fast."

"So how does that work," Artemisia asked, "Aging? Callie was a child when she came here fourteen years ago and now she's a grown woman. And considering how long I've been here, I should look significantly older than her."

"Children still grow up," Hoggle explained, "But but it slows down when they become adults. Callie will probably look much the same even fifty years from now."

Artemisia raised her eyebrows and shrugged as she took a sip from her glass.

"Well, that's not such a bad thing, I suppose," she said.

She allowed a hush to fall between them momentarily before asking a burning question.

"Do you remember what brought you here?"

He lifted his eyes up to meet hers. Even though he had certainly imbibed quite a lot more than her, his expression maintained its sobriety.

"My country go involved in a long, pointless war. 'The war to end all wars': that's what they called it. It ruined almost every nation that got involved. But ours got the brunt of it. We went through years of hardship until a leader rose up, promisin' to fix everything. And he did. He turned it all around." Hoggle took another sip from his glass.

"But then they started roundin' people up. All the undesirables: Jews, gypsies, criminals, homosexuals…" His eyes flickered up at Artemisia briefly. "They put us in camps, made us do hard labor, and anyone who couldn't, they were done away with. I don't remember exactly what took me out, but it was either that or one of the sicknesses goin' 'round. I only wish it had happened sooner. The memories I have of that place…" He tipped back his glass and swallowed its remainder.

"What 'bout you?" he asked.

"Surprisingly similar circumstances," she answered, "I had traveled to a new city with my sword master, and he had me disguise myself as a boy to keep a low profile. I passed easily for a boy, but I was still effeminate enough to have people whispering about the nature of our relationship. It was all just really bad timing. There was a monk gaining significant influence over the city, and he was currently on a crusade against the sodomites. When we were accused, I revealed myself to be a woman to get my master off the hook, but because we both frequented the local brothels, it only further incriminated me. I can't remember anything after that, but I can only assume they burned me at the stake. That's how they usually dealt with us sodomites."

"And Sarah's daughter…" he said, "is she…?"

Artemisia shrugged. "I would assume so," she said, "We started seeing each other a while ago, and I can say with all honesty that she pursued me just as much as I pursued her."

"Then why are you trying to send her home?" he asked.

Artemisia went quiet as she was reminded of the true reason behind her visit.

"I have to get her away from the King," she said, "He's been… hurting her."

Hoggle's expression went still and deadly serious.

"Hurtin' her _how_?" he asked.

"He has forced her into… concubinage," Artemisia told him, "Next, he intends to force her into marriage."

Hoggle went quiet, staring down at his glass, rubbing between his eyes with his fingers.

"That rat…" he said, "He clearly always had a thing for Sarah. He even acted jealous of me when we became friends. Can you believe it? _Him,_ jealous of _me_! But I didn't think he would be that way with her kid too…"

"That is why I need your help," Artemisia explained, "I can't just leave her there with him. He will destroy her."

Hoggle sighed and scratched his head, then looked very intently up at Artemisia.

"Look, I can't send her home," he said, "but if you can somehow get her here unnoticed, I can let you both stay as long as you need until you figure something out."

Artemisia reached across the table and took hold of his hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Thank you, Hoggle," she said, "I can't tell you how much help that would be."

* * *

The first half of dinner consisted of the two of them sitting together in silence, the tension thick in the air like smoke. After the King's disturbing revelation, Callie could not take her mind off of it, spending the whole day sewing little beaded fireflies to her dress. A firefly… Now it all made sense.

She did not change out of her dress after the incident, even though it was torn and smeared with dirt and dust. She kept it on partially just to spite him and partially because she didn't have the energy to deal with any prying maid asking about the bruises that were surely underneath. The only thing she could do from the time she left the library to the time she sat down with him for dinner was channel all of her rage and grief into finishing her dress.

After the silence became too heavy, the King finally spoke.

"I must apologize for earlier," he said, "I told you I would treat you with more respect now that you're carrying my child, and I broke my word. I'm sorry."

It wasn't what Callie expected to hear. He wasn't one to demonstrate contrition or humility, but his words rang hollow all the same. They struck her as more of an attempt to preserve his own integrity than an actual apology.

"I just want to know if it was all worth it," Callie replied in a low, calm voice. "Watching a grown man do that to a little girl… Was it worth it? Do you have everything you've always wanted now?"

He paused a moment before speaking. "I have seen worse happen to girls a lot younger," he replied.

"I bet you didn't intervene then, either," she sniped.

"I am not permitted to interfere in the affairs of mortals without invitation," he told her.

"No," she replied, "You can only take advantage of them once it's worked out in your favor."

"Yes."

"Then I ask again: was it worth it?"

He propped his elbow on the table and leaned his face against his palm, drumming the fingers of his other hand against the table's surface.

"And what if I were to say that it was?" he asked.

She flashed her eyes up at him to study his face. "Then I would say you still look pretty miserable for a man who has everything."

"I said it was worth it," he told her, "I didn't say I have everything. I have a consolation prize, which is better than nothing, but it still isn't everything."

"Am I really that much of a consolation to you?" she asked incredulously.

A smirk crossed over his lips. "In some ways, yes," he said, "Though much more so last week when you were still behaving yourself."

"Really? I got the distinct impression that you enjoyed it more when your had to force me," she sneered.

His smile widened slightly. "It's more exhilarating, yes, but quite a bit more work."

"Well," Callie scoffed, "so sorry you had to work for it."

A hush fell over them again as Callie stared down at her plate. She hadn't even eaten half her food, but she wasn't hungry. She entertained the thought that maybe she could starve the baby out. Then she felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

"And you want to bring a baby into this?" she asked, "Into an unhappy union between parents who hate each other?"

He paused before answering. "If people only had children under the most optimal of circumstances, there would be no children."

"There's a difference between non-optimal and subpar," Callie argued.

"The child will be born to a King, in his own castle, and will be provided with the finest of everything," he replied, "There's nothing 'subpar' about that."

"Except for having a mother who hates it," Callie answered.

"You _won't_ hate it," he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "You think you will because you hate its father, because you hate the way it was conceived, but that will all change when you see it."

Callie threw him a poisonous glare but he did not react.

"I don't delude myself with the notion that every woman has an unlimited capacity for maternal love," he continued, "My own kingdom is evidence enough against that. But you, Callie, I think you will be helpless against your own love for that child."

Callie wondered how he could always speak of her with such certainty, as if he knew her better than she knew herself. Was it pure arrogance, or could he simply read every thought and emotion upon her face? But then she remembered something that brought a wicked smile to her lips. Something he hadn't thought of yet.

"And how can you be so sure of that?" Callie asked. She crossed her own arms now and leaned back in her chair. "You told me once that you believed I could be capable of great cruelty if I were to ever have you at my mercy. Now you have taken a small part of yourself and left it so carelessly within my keeping."

Her eyes lit up as she watched him grow rigid in his seat.

"I suppose now we can test your theory," she continued, "See how alike we really are in that regard." She lifted her water glass and tilted it towards her lips nonchalantly, never taking her eyes off of him.

He rose slowly from his chair and her eyes watched him unflinchingly as he made his way around the table towards her. She did not relent, even as he grabbed the arm of her chair and turned it, scraping against the floor, so she was fully facing him.

"Know this," he said, his voice coming low and rough as he leaned in, looming over her. "I have my men out right this moment searching for Artemisia, and though they have not found her yet, they will, and then she will be at _my_ mercy once more. If you so much as _entertain_ the thought of harming that child, born or unborn, I will make sure she answers for it. At the end of this week, I will give you a full demonstration of how."

Callie said nothing, only held his gaze, though she felt her throat become suddenly parched. He pushed off her chair so hard that it scraped back against the floor as he turned away.

"If you aren't going to finish your dinner," he said, "I suggest that we retire for the evening."

Then he left the room without bothering to see if she followed.

* * *

By the end of the week, he delivered on his promise as he almost always did. He made her dress in red, insisting that it was only appropriate for the occasion, and then he took her to another part of the castle she had never seen before. An amphitheater, open air, like the Colosseum, structured in a circular arrangement around a plain wooden scaffold at it center. Faint traces of bloodstains could still be seen upon the wood and the sand, and though someone had clearly attempted to scrub them away, it was obvious to Callie what they were. She and the King were seated in a private box near the top so that they has full view of the ring down below, something which Callie would have gladly been spared. All the rows down below were packed tight, suggesting that nearly every subject of the goblin city was there to witness what was about to take place. Callie felt a sinking sense of dread in the pit of her stomach, not knowing what was about to happen, only that, whatever it was, she would not wish to see it inflicted upon Artemisia.

Soon after they were seated, a string of prisoners were lead out and stood before the scaffold, and a large, fierce looking goblin stepped up to the platform, carrying a long switch like the one Callie herself had been beaten with. His features were pointed and almost as sharp as his teeth that formed several rows in his mouth like those of a shark. Upon his head he wore a shriveled brown cap which, when Callie looked closely, appeared to be made from the flayed flesh of a dead man's face. He looked up and addressed the crowd.

"For the crime of public disorderliness and slander against The Crown, these here goblins are sentenced, by order of the King, to a public flogging of fifty lashes each," he announced, "Bring forth the first prisoner!"

The first in the row of prisoners was brought up upon the scaffold and forced to kneel before his punisher. The loose tunic he wore was rent down the back, just as Callie's dress had been, and as soon as the canvas was laid bare, that artist began with his brushstrokes.

Callie couldn't help but cringe as she watched, feeling the lingering lashes on her own back burning in solidarity as the switch came down, flicking droplets of blood through the air. It was almost easier to endure the infliction itself than to watch it administered upon someone else. She looked over at the King who, in spite of it being only nine in the morning, already cradled goblet of wine in his hand. His expression as he watched the spectacle was that of indifference, boredom even, as though he was only there out of a sense of obligation. There was no pity, or even a resolute sense of righteousness that justice was being carried out. To him, these faceless subjects could have easily trade places with any in the stands and he would hardly know the difference.

The beatings went on for nearly a good hour, for there were fifteen prisoners and each received their fifty lashes at the same slow, methodical pace, the executioner's switch always striking with the rhythmic steadiness of a metronome. What astounded Callie was that he didn't ever seem to tire and he grinned the whole time, clearly enjoying his work as if it were hardly work at all. By the time he finished with the fifteenth, there was decent size pool of blood mingling upon the scaffold where they had been made to kneel, and there were spatters of it upon the executioner's tunic.

Afterward, they were all lead out and Callie wondered if that was it. She had anticipated something a lot worse to emphasize the gravity of the King's threat. But even as the prisoners were lead out of sight, he did not move from his place, and then Callie could see one more lone prisoner coming across the sands towards the scaffold. Though he had not been among the first group, Callie could see that his clothes were already rent and he had already been freshly beaten, though not within sight of the crowd. But even so, he walked upright, not hunched or sullen, as if preparing to receive a great honor. An for a moment, Callie could have sworn as she watched him approach the scaffold, that he was looking directly at her.

The executioner stood him up on the scaffold, facing the direction of the King, before calling out his crime.

"Grendel Brensworth," the executioner intoned, "for the crime of treason and conspiracy against the Crown, you are sentenced, by order of the King, to death by method of the executioner's own choosing." His voice seemed to lilt with glee at the utterance of those last few words. "If you have any final words before you leave this world, you may speak them now."

The goblin smiled, now standing up even taller than he had been. Callie knew for certain this time that he was looking at her, and her heart began to pound as her eyes locked with his.

"Daughter of the Champion," he called out, "Resist! Do not let him rule you. Don't let your mother's conquest be for naught! Death to tyrants! Long live the Champion!"

Apprehension gripped Callie, and she turned towards The King to see him throwing a dark look her way. Then, lifting his cup to his lips, he turned back toward the scaffold and waved a hand to the executioner. Then it began.

The goblin's screams issued forth like reverberations from the lowest pits of Hell. Even on the worst nights, as Callie turned over in her mind all the tortures she would inflict upon the King were she to have him at her mercy, she couldn't ever fathom anything like this. This cruelty bordered on artistry, administering the horrific agonies so precisely as to keep the martyr hovering upon the threshold of life and death, literally torn asunder in the tension between the two. The Marquis de Sade would have blushed for shame to see his depraved imagination so brilliantly upstaged. Callie couldn't look away. Even as the Augustinian torments carried on and she felt her skin become clammy, her breathing growing her shallow, her stomach turning in and devouring itself, she was only relieved of the gruesome spectacle when darkness began to blot out her vision. Soon a sanctuary of black oblivion wrapped itself around her consciousness, and she slumped back against her chair.

When she came to, the King was carrying her in his arms through the corridors of the castle. Disoriented as she was, she immediately began to struggle against him.

"No…" she moaned, "Get away from me!"

"Be still," he growled. As she looked up she could see he wore that same dispassionate mask he used to conceal only the darkest of his furies.

When they reached the room, he nearly threw her on the bed. She tried to crawl back to put some distance between them, but he snatched her ankle and pulled her back in towards him.

"How did he know you?" he demanded. His gaze pierced into her as if trying to slice the truth right out of her.

It took Callie a moment to even register who he was talking about.

"I…" her mouth went dry, "I've never seen him before in my life," she told him. She tried not to sound nervous, but with what she had just witnessed and the way he was now looking at her, she couldn't help but stammer.

"He addressed you directly," he loomed over her, his gloved hands squeezing her arms progressively tighter. "Why?"

Callie swallowed hard as she shook her head. "I don't know," she said, "I don't know him. How could I know him? I can't leave the castle."

"You can't…" he pushed off of her, stepping away, "But Artemisia always could."

He stared at her silently for a few moments, as if contemplating what to do with her. Callie could only lay very still, staring back in doe-eyed petrification.

"You have just witnessed what becomes of those who plot against me," he told her. "When Artemisia is caught, she will be thoroughly interrogated. If either of you are found to be guilty of treason…" He didn't need to finish his statement. She had already seen.

He regarded her for a few moments longer before turning away and slamming the door on his way out.

If Callie was having any second thoughts about leaving, they were done away with right then.

* * *

Samhain finally came, and as the sun began to dip below the horizon, Callie would have just been getting laced into her satin gown, her hair already threaded with gold ornaments, her cheeks and lips already dabbed with rouge. She would have tied on that mask of midnight satin with the gold filigree and gold veined insects wings and waited quietly until she heard a knock on the door. The King would have arrived to escort her, offering her his arm, walking her to another hidden part of the castle where the ball was being held.

As they entered, the guards would bow, they would announce their titles as they descended the staircase of the ballroom bedecked in pumpkin vines that twisted around the gargoyles wrought into the stonework, hovering amongst the chandeliers that dripped crystalline light upon the dancers. They would mingle among those otherworldly courtiers, who would regard Callie with amusement and curiosity as she stood silently by the King's side. They would make jabs about her being mute or having lost her tongue, which the King would excuse away as just the result of her natural timidity. Then he would draw her away to dance, and though she would not be the most graceful, he would be mildly impressed by how easy she was to lead.

The hours would pass, the evening would carry on, and by midnight, the King would ascend with Callie to the top of the staircase and announce his engagement to the Daughter of the Champion, Lady Calliope of the Labyrinth. All would applaud, though many a jilted princess would scowl and whisper the scandalous rumor that the King's betrothed was a lowly bondmaid before he granted her such a dubious title to make marriage possible. Then they would toast to the new Queen, though the new Queen would not participate—spurring more rumors of premarital pregnancy—much dancing and rejoicing would follow. The hours would pass, the King would mingle, his Lady would dance with the gentlemen who would offer their congratulations over and over in succession. She would curtsey and nod and behave herself so well that the King would stop watching her so closely.

Hours would pass and he would look around and not see her. He would dip down into the throng to search for her, but wouldn't find her. Then he would calmly excuse himself, stepping out to discreetly alert his guards, sending them out to look for her without alarming his guests. They would receive reports of a woman in a ballgown heading west and they would follow her trail. Near they outskirts of the city, they would find the dress and mask discarded and they would lead a search though the junk fields, searching for a dark-haired young woman dressed only in her stays and petticoats.

By then, Ellowyn would be walking through threshold of her home, pulling the gold ornaments out of her hair and wiping the rouge from her mouth and cheeks. She would go into her children's room to stroke their hair and kiss them gently on their sleeping heads. Then she would crawl into bed beside her husband who would stir and turn and pull her into his arms after another long night of missing her, and she would lay her head down on his chest, praising heaven for her life full of blessings.

All this, Callie could only imagine, because by that time, she had already been traveling through the night, heading east towards the gate that Ellowyn said would lead her straight to the forest. She wore her old dress, the one she had stolen back from the King, and a goblin mask Ellowyn had found in the King's closet. Callie's heart beat wildly, her nerves drawn taut, she watched over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't being followed. She could scarcely believe she had finally done it: she was beyond the walls of the castle for the first time in fourteen years. But she couldn't stop, she had to keep moving, she had to keep track of the ridges as she crested them.

Ellowyn said it would be on the seventh ridge, to look for a discoloration in the hillside and there it would be: the door. It was dawn by the time she finally reached it, and Callie wandered up and down the hill in search of the door. Then she saw it. It was exactly as Ellowyn described, a discoloration of grass upon the hillside, and she pulled it up. Underneath was a tunnel, like the rabbit hole that Alice fell down, and she crawled in without hesitation. On the other side, she found herself surrounded by trees and foliage and the songs of the first birds of morning. Then she collapsed against a tree, her trembling nerves flooded with relief and exhaustion. She knew the forests was dangerous, but she couldn't go any further. Now hidden among the oaks and firs, she felt safe enough to rest, grateful to for the chance to sleep anywhere but the King's bed. As her eyes closed, she considered that she could be eaten by some wild beast if it found her there, but didn't care. If she died in that forest before she woke, at least she would die free.


	15. Love

**Love**

Hoggle had helped her restock her previsions before she left, filling her pack with dried fruit, smoked meats, nuts, and hard cheeses. Then he gave her a compass and a crudely drawn map along with directions for the quickest way back to the castle, circumventing the junk fields. Getting back to the castle would be the easy part; getting Callie out of the castle would be the hard part. She only hoped she wasn't too late.

Callie had told her that the King put in a rush order for a wedding gown, but Artemisia couldn't think of any reason why the King would rush to get married. Even if the goblin rebel had been right, and it would somehow smooth over this conflict between him and the populace, he never really seemed to be in any hurry to address such matters. Not only that, but he would also have to somehow win the approval his allies in the neighboring kingdoms, which, despite Callie's famous mother, would prove a difficult feat regarding her low status.

But it wasn't the potential marriage that Artemisia worried about most; her primary concern was with what state she would find Callie in once she reached her. The haunting way she had looked at her in the corridor as she was leaving the King's chambers… She had seen Callie sad before, but this wasn't just sadness; it was ruin, complete and utter devastation staring back at her behind those bloodshot eyes and bruised skin. And then for it to happen again and again, night after night for over a month, she couldn't imagine that she would find the same Callie waiting for her upon her return. She didn't know if she would be able to help her, to put her back together again, piece by piece, or if it was even possible. But she would have to cross that bridge when she got to it. Now she needed only to get her someplace safe.

She had been traveling half the day, and Hoggle had said that it was roughly a day and half journey to the gate. She was resting by a tree to eat and look over her map when she heard the voices, and the sound of twigs snapping underfoot. She darted up, searching around frantically before finding a tree with a low enough bough and dense enough foliage to climb up in and hide undetected. Then, bow and arrow drawn, she waited for them to pass.

They were clearly paid bounty hunters, hired by the King no doubt, armed to the teeth with swords and axes and clubs. There were three of them, and from their size and bulk, Artemisia could tell he must have paid a pretty penny, which was certainly flattering. The King really must think highly of her martial skills if he felt it necessary to send three large goblins to retrieve one woman.

She could see them passing under her now, speaking in hushed tones. One of them had the head of a boar, tusked and hairy, and the other two, she could tell from the gruesome swatch of flesh they wore on their heads, were redcaps. Now that was a bit _too_ flattering.

Suddenly they stopped, the boar-headed goblin lifting his snout to the air and inhaling. He looked around, examining the ground for tracks.

"She must have come this way," she heard him say. "Very recently. The smell of human flesh is stronger here."

"It'll be a lot stronger once we heat it over a nice open flame," one of the redcaps commented.

"Only if you don't want to get paid," the other replied, "The King wants this one back alive. You'll have to wait until she's tried for treason to get your turn with her."

Artemisia's blood froze in her veins. _Treason?_

"It look like there might be tracks in this direction," the boar-headed one said, "Let's keep moving."

She watched as they carried on in the direction she had come, turning the word over and over again in her mind.

 _Treason._ She knew he would not take her absence lightly, but surely to call it treason was a bit much. She waited until they were long out of sight before she climbed down from the tree and continued on. If they were right, if she was indeed wanted for treason, then this rescue mission would be even more difficult than she thought.

* * *

The King was furious. How could he have lost her? How could she have gotten away? How could it be taking them so long to find her? She was a little wisp of a mortal girl, for God's sake, and pregnant too, yet all they could bring back was that damnable ballgown. She had been with him the whole night, only disappearing right before dawn; she couldn't have gotten that far.

He paced back and forth through his study, unable to think about anything else. His future Queen—that ungrateful, little bitch—had fled and taken his potential heir with her. Now that stupid girl, who had never in her life had to survive on her own, was lost somewhere in the city, in the junk fields, in the wilderness, foolishly trying to fend for herself.

He had given her everything: the clothes on her back, the food in her belly, an honorable profession, a title, a crown. All he asked for in return was exactly what he had asked of her mother: _fear me, love me, do as I say._ She had already mastered two of the three, for her fear was evident and she almost always obeyed; it was only that one, final demand that she resisted so adamantly.

For a while, she seemed to be coming around. That night when she kissed him after he had finally beaten some sense into her that same morning, the whole week he had tried to make her understand that if she was only receptive, soft, yielding, things need not be so difficult. He could tell it did not come easily to her, but he rewarded her efforts nonetheless with patience, gentleness, and affection. Yes, he had been cruel—there was no denying that he had taken great pleasure in mortifying her tender flesh—but he was could be merciful and generous as well. To show the extent of his generosity, he even gave her her own atelier, fully-stocked, and allowed her to continue practicing her craft. He would have given her more still—beautiful, rare silks, a whole palace of her own—if she had only let him.

Was it really so much to ask for: love? She would not be the first woman in history to love her captor. Had not the war trophy Briseis regarded Achilles as her husband? Had not the concubine Hurrem written love poems to Suleyman? It was a tale as old as time: a man would steal his bride, and though she would weep and resist at first, she would eventually come to accept it. He thought that it would not be such a difficult feat with Calliope, whose temperament was already passive and docile, and perhaps if it wasn't for his Captain—that dyke, that worthless tribade—it would have been much easier.

For whatever reason, although she had fled like a coward and left her to her fate, Callie still clung to Artemisia. It was just another trait she shared in common with him: neither of them could easily let go of the women who'd abandoned them. He could see it in her fear every time he uttered even a mild threat against her, begging him, making every effort to defend her from his wrath. Perhaps she had loved her, but what would have come of this love? No children, no family, it would have been a union as barren and fruitless as the outskirts of his kingdom. Really, she should be thanking him for allowing her to fulfill her purpose as a woman instead of letting it just shrivel away for the sake of some childish infatuation.

That had to be what it was: an infatuation. She was too feminine to be a true invert; she was simply one in a long succession of women who had been fooled by Artemisia's expert imitation of masculine swagger. She had obviously never been with another man—something he discovered on their first night together— so how could she know the difference? Had she only been patient, not flown into a hysteria over the child, he could have shown her how things were supposed to be, how love was supposed to be.

His contemplation was interrupted by a soft knocking on the door. Most likely one of his guardsmen coming to report another failure and offer their excuses. He was already fuming as he strode over to answer it.

"You'd better be coming to tell me you've found her or else I suggest you leave right now." But he opened the door to find Ellowyn there instead, looking up at him with a puzzled expression.

"Good evening, Your Majesty," she said with a curtsey. "It's nearly time for me to ready Lady Calliope for bed. Do you know where I might find her?"

He narrowed his eyes but softened his tone.

"No," he replied, "Calliope went missing this morning. The Guard is out looking for her as we speak."

Ellowyn pressed a hand to her heart, eyebrows lifted with concern.

"Missing?" she said, "Heavens, I hope she's alright."

He paused a moment, studying her face.

"Yes, well, we believe that she ran away," he continued, "She wouldn't have happened to say anything to you about it? About a plan to escape or anything like that?"

Ellowyn shook her head. "No, Majesty," she replied, "She had been rather distraught over the child, but it only seems natural that a woman would be anxious about her first pregnancy."

He studied her face a moment longer, then reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingers, examining them as he pulled them back.

"When did you start wearing rouge, Ellowyn?" he asked.

"Oh," Ellowyn giggled, "Your Majesty was so kind as to give me the night off after dressing Lady Calliope, I made myself up before my husband and I went out to enjoy the festivities. I supposed I must have missed a spot afterward."

He was quiet another moment before turning and walking back to his desk.

"Don't worry about Callie tonight," he said with a wave of his hand, "Just light a fire and leave a decanter on the table. That will be all."

"Of course, Your Majesty," she said with a curtsey, "I will pray for Lady Calliope's safe return."

"Thank you," he said, not looking up as she closed the door.

Perhaps he was just being ridiculous now, fixating on a dab of rouge, but the tendency towards treachery seemed to run strong among the women in his life, so who could blame him for having his doubts? He knew Ellowyn would not have to pray very hard. After a day or two in the junk field's Callie would likely return on her own, half-starved and dying of thirst. Perhaps that's just exactly what she needed to realize how good she had it with him. And perhaps if she was sweet about it, he would have her spend only one week instead of two in the Oubliette before allowing her to return.

* * *

Callie could only sleep fitfully for a few short hours before waking to find herself very much alive, still in the forest, unmolested by predators of any kind. Again, she was relieved, half-expecting to wake up again in the King's bed, finding that it had all just been a dream. She lifted the mask from her face and looked around at the red-dappled trees, now shedding their gold and russet leaves upon the dampened, mushroom ringed undergrowth. An eerie calmness descended upon her as she listened to the birds and sibilant rushing of the breeze. Though she knew she should have been terrified or at least anxious to be alone in that enclosure of boughs and branches, she instead felt a sense of serenity beyond anything she had ever known.

She began wandering, taking it all in, the world suddenly an endless expanse of acreage that she could tread upon unimpeded without restriction. The woodland appeared to her as a wild, beautiful, untamed garden, far outshining that over-cultivated artifice of hedges and flowers back in the gardens of the castle. Ellowyn had told her that, in spite of its many dangers, the forest was the safest place for her away from the King, who hated even setting foot in there, but Callie could only wonder how anyone could fail to appreciate the savage, feral beauty of the world that now surrounded her.

She did not have a destination; she only wandered away from the gate, though any game trails that allowed her easy passage. Though she was on her own, she didn't feel alone, for it was impossible to feel lonely when surrounded by such an abundance of life. As she navigated the tangled passages through the trees, she slowly untangled the accumulation of grief and confusion lodged within her heart.

She had died in a place like this, her body unzipped and all of her spilling out of it like feather down from a pillow. It had been exactly as he had described it, a shattering, shaking her loose from the wholeness of herself and leaving this one lone fragment behind in the aftermath. She had always heard of ghosts, rogue spirits that were somehow earthbound to the place that their body had left them, forever reliving the cause of their final undoing. Such spirits were always unaware of their circumstances, unaware that they had long been cast off from their casing, rebirthed into a hell of their own making, and perhaps she should consider herself lucky that she now knew. She would not have to repeat the cycle, only deal with its consequences.

She could not think of the King, about the things he had done to her, the things he had told her, the things he had shown her. She could only bury it all down into the deepest part of herself, into the Oubliette of her soul where only the unformed, unspoken aspects of herself lived, where it wouldn't be noticed and could perhaps be forgotten. If she put it there, then maybe she could go back to the beginning. After all, the way forward is sometimes the way back.

Her wandering did not come to an end, even as the columns of light streaming through the branches began to fade and the songs of birds were replaced by a chorus of crickets. She did not wish to stop until she could no longer see the path in front of her, but then she smelled the woodsmoke in the air, and faintly between the trees, she could make out the flickering of a fire.

It unnerved her, stopping her in her tracks as that memory of her final moments flashed before her eyes. But then, in her stillness, she could acutely hear the snapping of twigs and the rustling of leaves underfoot, alerting her to the fact that she was no longer alone in those woods.

A blind panic seized her and she bolted, darting between the trees as fast as she could, but she could hear the heavy footfalls behind her and the crunching of leaves and twigs growing louder in quick succession. She choked back a sob as she ran, not daring to look and see who pursued her as she could hear them drawing nearer. Then her foot caught on a root and she fell and her pursuer descended upon her, locking an arm around her middle and clasping a hand over her mouth to muffle her screams as she struggled against them in the dirt and the leaves, desperately trying to free herself from their grip. Then she heard the voice whispering next to her ear.

"Callie? Callie is that you?"

Her whole body went rigid as her eyes grew wide and voice dried up within her. Could this be real? Was she dreaming? The hands loosened and pulled away from her and she turned to behold her captor. It felt like an eternity had passed since she'd last seen her, but there she was: her hazel eyes, her obsidian hair, the bowing of her lips, the soft curve of her cheek. Her Artemisia, all exactly as she had last seen her almost another lifetime ago.

Sounds escaped her throat, but Callie could not form a single coherent word as the tears spilled forth, and she reached for her with desperate, grasping hands. Artemisia immediately pulled her into her arms, crushing her against her body as Callie buried her face into her shoulder and wailed. She had been numb and could suddenly feel, she had been lame and could suddenly walk. She had been split down the middle and was now fit back together with her other half. They stayed like that for a long time, Callie's muffled sobs accompanied only by the sound of crickets as they held onto each other, banishing the separation that they had both endured for far too long. It was only when Callie's sobs dissipated into quiet hiccups that Artemisia released her and brushed a hand over her dampened cheek.

"Callie…" she whispered, "Thank God you're here; thank God you're safe."

She took her over to the fire and wrapped her in her cloak to keep her warm. As she tended to the flames, she asked Callie how she had escaped. Callie told her about how she made a dress that the King thought would be for her, but was sewn to Ellowyn's measurements, and how Ellowyn took her place at the ball on Samhain so that she could sneak away from the castle, disguised and unnoticed.

Artemisia smiled and shook her head.

"I swear that woman is a living saint," she said, "I owe her everything."

"She said the same thing about you," Callie told her, "She told me what you had done for her."

Artemisia's eyes flickered up for a moment and then she shrugged.

"I only did what any decent person would do," she said.

"Yes," Callie replied, "but you overestimate how many decent people there really are."

They shared a meal of dried fruit and meat from Artemisia's pack as she told Callie about her journey and about meeting the Exile.

"He said he could give us sanctuary for a while," she said, "It's just about a day's journey back the way I came."

She didn't mention to Callie that he would be unable to send her home to her mother, but Callie didn't ask about it. She only nodded in response.

That night, they fell asleep together against a tree, Callie laying back in Artemisia's arms, her cloak thrown over them both for warmth. Though there was already a frost in the air and the ground was damp and cold, it was the first time in over a month that Callie had been able to sleep peacefully.

They set out the next morning at first light and did not arrive at Hoggle's home until close to dark. They did not speak much throughout the journey, staying quiet so as to not draw the attention of any fieries or bounty hunters, but Callie held onto Artemisia the whole time, clinging to her hand, her arm, fearful that if she let go for even a moment, she would somehow lose her again.

Hoggle had not been expecting her to return so soon, and held his ax at the ready when he opened the door, only lowering it when he realized who was there.

"That was fast," he commented.

"Yes, well, she met me halfway," Artemisia replied.

That's when Hoggle spied Calliope standing behind her and his jaw nearly fell open.

"Sarah…" he breathed, "You look just like her."

Callie smiled shyly, but said nothing.

Once inside, Hoggle showed them to a spare room he had set up with a sleeping mat and pillows and blankets. He apologized that it wasn't much, but but he wasn't use to receiving guests. Artemisia thanked him all the same, and he left them to themselves. They were both exhausted from the day's journey so Artemisia had told him they would just turn in for the night. As she was taking off her boots, she noticed Callie struggling with the buttons at the back of her dress and went over to help her. Callie hesitated a moment, then turned to facilitate her. But as soon as she began to slide the dress off Callie's shoulders, Artemisia noticed the scars.

She ran her fingers over them, those ugly, pink welts striping her back in a series of ridges. She could also see clearly now how thin she had gotten, her spinal column, her scapulae, protruding much too sharply against her thin web of flesh.

"Callie…" she murmured, "Did he do this to you?"

Callie nodded, only staring out ahead.

"I raised my voice to him," she said, "He didn't like it."

Artemisia felt a swell of anger and pity rise up in her, letting out a pained sigh as she ran her fingers through Callie's corset lacing, loosening it so she could unhook the busk. Once she had it off, Callie pulled away and lowered herself down to the sleeping mat. Artemisia looked down at her with concern etched into her expression as she finished undressing.

"Callie…" she said again, lowering herself down beside her, "If you need to talk about anything that happened—"

"I don't," Callie cut in abruptly, "If it's all the same to you, I would like to just forget about what happened."

Artemisia turned and eyed her skeptically.

"Do you think it's something you can so easily forget about?" she asked.

"No," Callie said. She wouldn't look at her as she spoke. "But when I talk about it, I have to think about it, and I don't want to think about it. Not right now."

Artemisia sighed again and dropped her gaze back down, unsure of how to proceed. The fact of what happened hung in the air between them like smoke from a house fire, and it could not be ignored. It was a wound upon Callie's soul, bleeding out in plain sight, but she wouldn't allow Artemisia to touch it, to even acknowledge that it was there.

"Ok," Artemisia said, "You don't have to tell me what happened. Perhaps it's just too soon. But if you won't tell me what happened, at least tell me what you are feeling right now."

She looked over to see Callie blinking rapidly, lowering her head. For a few long moments, she remained silent, as if struggling to find the right words. Then her voice came forth, softly and with hesitation.

"I feel… sad," she said, "hurt, confused. I still don't understand why he wanted to hurt me so much. Because it wasn't just lust; he wanted to _hurt_ me. And I wonder sometimes if it was something I'd done or if there was something that I could have done differently. But most of all, I just feel angry. Angry with him, but mostly angry with myself."

Artemisia looked back up at her, but continued to listen.

"I honestly believed that by letting him hurt me, I was keeping everyone else from getting hurt," she continued, "But that's not true, is it? It didn't keep him from coming after you, and it didn't keep Ellowyn from getting dragged into it, and now Hoggle, and soon there will be yet another life caught in the middle…"

"What do you mean?" Artemisia cut in, "What other life?"

Callie fell silent for a moment, not wanting to answer, but knowing that the truth would have to come out eventually. There was no use trying to hide it.

"I'm carrying his child," she said.

Artemisia fell speechless, unsure of how to respond, but Callie continued before she could.

"I… I understand if this is too much for you," she said, "I know that this isn't what you signed up for, and so if you decide that it's more than you can handle, I will understand. I don't expect you to stay involved any longer than you already have."

"You think I would abandon you right now, in the midsts of all this?" Artemisia snapped, "What kind of person do you think I am?"

"I think you're too good of a person to be burdened with all this," Callie answered.

"I will choose for myself what I'm willing to be burdened with," she replied, "just as I chose to keep seeing you after the King set his sights on you, just as I chose to break my oath to find the Exile for you. Everything I've done I've done for you, Callie. Because I love you, don't you see that? Don't you believe me?"

"But why?" Callie asked, tears breaking her voice, "Why do you love me? Why do you believe that there is anything about me worth going through all this for?"

"You can't ask _why,_ Callie!" Artemisia exclaimed, "There's never any reason or motive to love, and if there is, it isn't love! It's like asking why sunsets are so beautiful or why people make art. I love you because I just do! I love the way you smile; I love that you make pretty things; I love that you're so gentle and quiet and shy; I love that I can just hold you in my arms and feel peace from the bottom of my soul. And even the parts of you that are now wounded and broken, I love all those too. I can't explain it, Callie, but it's how I feel. I used to hate myself for it, for loving other women when I was supposed to love men, but now I thank God for it because it means that I get to love _you_. And that's not a burden to me, it never was. It will only ever be a blessing."

When Callie finally turned to look at her, the tears were streaming down her face, and for the first time she understood why Ellowyn, in spite of her all her suffering, always called herself blessed. Before she could make any feeble attempt to reach for her, Artemisia had her in her arms, kissing her, and for the first time in what felt like years, Callie felt that sense of connection that had long been lost to her. It undid that coiled ache lodged in her chest, It made the whole world dissolve away, and for a briefest moment, it was only her and Artemisia.

 **A/N: Thank you so much to Laura and MzAkumaGore for your reviews! You have no idea how much it means to me to know that people are enjoying the story.**

 **Laura: I'm so glad you liked the plot twist. I wasn't sure how well it would be received. I know it's a little out there. I'm trying to stay consistent with writing a chapter a week, updating usually every Wednesday or Thursday. I'm also in the process of rewriting it as an original story, following basically the same plot, but with all original characters, setting, and some minor changes to the premise.**

 **MzAkumaGore: Thank you so much for your kind words! I have kind of just been making the plot up as I go along, but I do have an idea of where I'm going and how the story is going to end. I'm so glad you like the pairing as well. I felt like their relationship was a little underdeveloped in the earlier chapters, but I'm going to try to make up for it now that they're reunited. I actually really like Jareth's character, but only as a villain. He was the main reason why I decided to write this story as a Labyrinth fanfiction, because I feel like so much can be done with his character, especially as an antagonist. The movie leaves it very ambiguous as to how good or bad he really is, but there's certainly no question that he is manipulative and controlling. Thank you again and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.**


	16. Shell Shock

**Shell Shock**

Callie woke to find herself curled up alone upon the bedding, and for a moment she panicked, dreading that Artemisia was gone from her again. But then she heard the scraping of chairs and the clanking of glasses coming from the room outside her door and felt a sense of relief wash over her. She must have just gotten up before her. She raised herself from off her mat and began to dress, cinching her corset around her waist, tying on her petticoat and buttoning her dress up the back. She told herself that she would have to go out sometime today and find a stream to wash her clothes, which were now filthy after one too many days of wandering in the wilderness.

As she emerged from the bedroom, she found, not Artemisia, but the dwarf knocking about in the kitchen. Though it shouldn't have been so surprising—he owned the house, after all— it caught her off guard, not feeling prepared to be alone in the company of a stranger no matter how well he knew her mother.

"Uh, good morning," he said when he saw her.

He was putting a kettle of water on a small, makeshift range that he had lit a fire beneath. On the table he already had two, chipped, un-matching teacups. Everything else throughout his little kitchen looked like it had been cobbled together by items found in the junk fields, which, considering his state of exile, was almost certainly the case.

"Good morning," Callie answered back, feeling suddenly very uneasy. She knew he was their host, and that he was providing them with sanctuary from the King, but she wished Artemisia was there so that she didn't have to be be alone with him.

"Artemis is out hunting for breakfast. I was just gonna make some tea," he said, pulling out a small tin container, "Would you like some?"

"That would be nice," Callie said, "Thank you."

She sat down at the table as he spooned what looked like nettle and mint leaves out the tin into a small teapot, then he sat down in the chair opposite her. For a moment he just seemed to stare at her until the discomfort got to her, and she looked away.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I just can't get over it. How much you look like her. Your mother, I mean."

Callie looked back toward him. "I should be thanking you," she said, "For helping her all those years ago, and for helping us now."

"Yeah, well, I would do anything for Sarah," he said, scratching his head with embarrassment, "She was one of the few friends I ever had."

At the mention of her mother, she smiled. "You said her name," she observed, "Most people never say her name. They only call her by her title."

"What, 'the Champion'?" he chuckled, "If they knew her like I did, they wouldn't use such an over-blown title."

"What was she like when you knew her?" Callie asked.

"A spoiled little brat," he answered.

For the first time in a long time, Callie genuinely laughed, surprised to hear her mother, the brave and noble Champion of the Labyrinth, described in such terms. It brought smile to the dwarf's face as well.

Artemisia returned to such a quaint domestic scene, her newest ally and and her lover, sitting across from each other at the kitchen table as he recounted tales of her mother over a cup of tea. When Callie turned to reveal the smile on her face, Artemisia could feel only relief. She didn't know what to expect upon her reunion with Callie, but she certainly didn't expect to see her smiling again so soon.

She put the rabbits she had already skinned and dressed down on the counter by the range, then leaned down to give Callie a kiss. It seemed to take Hoggle by surprise, who, in spite of being aware of their relationship, was unaccustomed to seeing such casual intimacies between two women.

"Did you catch those yourself?" Callie asked upon spying the rabbit carcasses.

"Sure did," Artemisia replied, "I know it's not much, but it'll go pretty far if we make a stew of some sort."

"I didn't know you knew how to hunt," Callie said.

Artemisia shrugged. "Hunting is actually really good for honing martial skills," she said, "I used to make all my men learn how to hunt as part of their bow training."

"Your men?" Hoggle questioned.

"Artemis was the Captain of the Guard back at the castle," Callie explained.

Hoggle's eyes grew wide. "Captain?" he exclaimed, "Of Jareth's Guard?"

"Who else's?" Artemisia asked.

Hoggle narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Didn't know I was harboring one of my enemy's minions, that's all," he said with a scowl.

"'Was' is the key word here," Artemisia said, picking up a knife to cut the joints off of one of the rabbit carcasses. "As you can see by my presence here, I'm not exactly in the King's good graces anymore."

"Will you teach me?" Callie chimed in.

Artemisia looked up in bewilderment. "Teach you what?" she asked.

"How to hunt," she said. "And whatever you're doing right now."

"I'm just cutting it up so that we can cook it," Artemisia explained. "You want to learn how to hunt?"

"Yes," Callie said. "And cook. I've never done either. There are a lot of things I would like to learn how to do."

That was when it occurred to Artemisia that this was Callie's first time out of captivity in fourteen years. She had spent her entire life completely dependent on someone else for all of her needs, and all of the basic life skills Artemisia had taken for granted, Callie was never taught.

"I'd be happy to teach you," Artemisia replied, "Go grab that pot and put it on the range. I'll show you how to prepare the meat."

Callie leapt up and did as she was told, an excited grin spreading over her face. As Artemisia showed her how to heat the pot and turn the meat, she couldn't help by smile as well. It occurred to her that maybe this was one way she could help Callie. If she could help her to master all the small, ordinary challenges of living, then maybe she wouldn't have feel so powerless anymore. They were both starting again from scratch, so this seemed like a good place to start.

They made a stock from the trunks of the carcasses and some wild herbs that Hoggle regularly gathered, then they made a stew with the meat, mushrooms, wild garlic, and some root vegetables. Callie ate more than she usually did—at least more than she did at dinner with the King—but still not as much as she used to. Artemisia decided that next time she went out, she would have to bring back an animal with more fat. Such lean meat wasn't going to be enough for a woman in Callie's condition.

After their breakfast, Callie told Artemisia that she wanted to go down to the nearby stream to wash her clothes. She had been wearing the same shift and dress for the past three days and needed them cleaned.

"Go on ahead without me and I'll meet you there," Artemisia told her, "I need to talk to Hoggle for a moment."

Hoggle gave Callie a basin, a washboard, and some handmade soap, and sent her on her way before sitting back down at the table with Artemisia.

"We have another problem," she told him, rubbing between her eyebrows with her fingers.

"What is it?" Hoggle asked.

Artemisia sighed deeply and gave him a sober look. "Callie is pregnant," she said, "She isn't very far along, but of course, this is a time-sensitive matter and I don't think either of us are equipped to handle this."

She paused before continuing. "So many things can go wrong… I need to get her someplace where we might have a midwife on hand in case she needs one."

Hoggle was quiet a long while as he considered what he had just been told, then he too sighed.

"You would have to travel a long ways," he said, "But there is a rebel camp I've been correspondin' with to the south. They have their own community with both men and women living there. They would likely be better help to her than I could be."

"Can you show me?" Artemisia asked, pulling out the map and laying it down on the table.

He pointed to a far corner of the forest territory, likely a two week journey from where they were, and she marked it.

"I can give you some things for the journey," he said, "But I think you should let her rest here for a little while. I think it would be good for her."

"I think you're right," Artemisia agreed glumly. She peered down at the table with heavy-lidded eyes, clearly lost in thought.

"How is she doin'?" Hoggle inquired tentatively.

Artemisia shrugged. "As well as one might expect," she said, "She doesn't want to talk about what happened, and I can't say I blame her. I found scars on her back last night where it looks like he whipped her. Whatever she went through, it was clearly far worse than I'd imagined."

Hoggle clenched his fists, shaking his head. "Can't say I'm surprised," he said, "Not anymore, a least. Jareth hardly surprises any of us anymore."

"I don't remember him always being this way," Artemisia said. "I've known him a long time. I've worked right alongside him, taking his orders, guarding his chambers. Lord knows he was never any saint, but all this malice, this nihilism, this self-destructive wallowing, it's never been this bad."

"Yeah, well, most people have death to look forward to," Hoggle replied, "He doesn't. It's easy for life to become meaningless when there's no end to it in sight."

They both went quiet for a moment, but as they did, they could hear the noise coming from outside. An echoing, syncopating knocking sound, and suddenly Artemisia was seized with panic.

She stood up quickly, knocking her chair back, meeting Hoggle's eyes which mirrored her own dreaded realization.

"Shit!" she snarled, snatching up her sword from the countertop, "Callie's out there!"

* * *

Callie had found the little stream, glittering in the slanted rays of the autumn sunlight, and she filled the basin with its clear, cool water before stripping off her dress. She dipped it into the basin, held it under until it was soaked through, then scrubbed it with the soap and began scouring the dirt-stained, sweat soaked garment against the wash board. She would wash the dress first, she told herself, then after it dried, she would put it on and wash her shift. It would likely take most of the day, but at least she would have something clean to wear. Then she would ask Hoggle if he had any clothes that needed mending. Something to make herself useful, something to keep her busy. It had suddenly become very important to her that she kept busy, that she partook of these everyday toils of washing and cooking and mending. She kept searching desperately for any series of tasks to focus her attention, to anchor her mind and keep it from wandering.

The soapy solution stung her hands, and dressed in only her muslin shift and stay, the crisp autumnal air gave her a chill, but she was glad for it. The chill on her skin kept her distracted, kept her from sinking too far down into her thoughts. Perhaps after she finished with her dress, she would offer to wash the sheets, or Artemisia's shirt, whatever else needed washing. There had to be more. She didn't care if her hands were frozen and raw by the end of the day, she would wash all the linens in the house if she had to.

It was while her mind was searching so frantically for small, useful tasks to keep herself busy that it began, coming out of nowhere. The knocking. Before she could stop it, the image of the antechamber door passed before her eyes. She stood up slowly, looking around as her heart began racing, sweat dewing her skin in a fine, cold sheen.

Then she heard him say her name. She closed her eyes. She tried to breath. Surely this wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. She had gotten away. But then she heard it again:

"Callie."

She opened her eyes and there he was. And now she could see that she wasn't in the forest anymore; she was back in his room, standing before him, and before she could even cry out, he had her by her hair.

"Did you think it would be so easy, precious?" He whispered against her ear as he held his fist against her scalp. He was pushing her back, back down to the bed, his breath hot upon her face, his hand already pulling up her nightgown.

She thought it was over, she thought she had escaped, but now it was happening again, all over again. She couldn't even block it out this time. She could feel everything, just as she had that first night, as he forced his way in, as he clawed at her breasts, as his teeth bit into her shoulder hard enough to bruise. And in her pain and terror, she couldn't move, she couldn't even scream, like Pygmalion in reverse, her body of flesh suddenly growing rigid, metamorphizing into the cold, pale stone.

She tried to keep her eyes closed, shuttering her mind against his image, but he pulled her hair harder, began moving more violently, and demanded that she look at him. And with a choking sob, she did, and upon meeting his gaze, she saw it again.

What horrified her most was that he wasn't actually looking at her. He was looking _through_ her, deep down into her cells, into her DNA where he might find traces of _her_ , where even across time and space, boundaries of flesh, and maybe even death, he might reach her. But when her mother failed to manifest before his eyes, failed to reach out and touch him, his eyes would tell Callie something that she was already beginning to believe: _You should not exist._

That was the reason for it, wasn't it? What he did and why he did it? Hadn't he told her as much that night in her room? _It isn't what you've done, it's what you are._ It was the only reason why her raged against her, night after night, against her very being, against her parents' misalliance which produced one such as her at the cost of his own exclusion. She was Sarah's, but she was not his, so how could she even exist?

Sometimes, in the midsts of this existential attack, her psyche would acquiesce to his demands, and shut her off from the inside, starting with splotches on her vision, slowly fading into black until it really felt like she really had been wiped from the face of existence. Then she would hide there in her oblivion, until it was over, until it was safe to come out again. But when would it ever be so? She knew better now than to believe she could ever be safe from him.

When they found her, the two fieries already had their hands on her, but Callie was curled up in a little ball beside the stream as they struggled to pry her open. The sight of it immediately filled Artemisia with such fury, she could barely contain herself.

"Get the hell away from her!" She shrieked wildly as she descended upon them, sword drawn, ferocity blazing in her eyes.

She seemed to have taken them both by surprise, because they immediately released Callie and turned towards her with a hiss. She swung recklessly as they sprung at her, her sword missing one as he separated his body in the preparation for her blow and took hold of her face with his long, clawed fingers. But Artemisia took advantage of his close proximity, grabbing hold of a clump of feathers at the top of his head and snatching the whole thing clean off. His claws immediately released her as they began feeling about his shoulders where his head was now absent. The other tried to spring at her as well, but Hoggle swung his ax, knocking his legs out from under him, giving Artemisia the opportunity to retrieve Callie from off of the ground.

She scooped her up in her arms just as Hoggle was throwing the head off of their incapacitated assailant and began running back up the hill towards home.

Artemisia burst through the door and carried her into their bedroom, laying Callie down on the bed. She hadn't even stirred since they had wrestled her away from the fieries, and Artemisia was beginning to fear for the worst. She rolled her over and could see Callie's eyes were open, but staring blankly ahead. She had a pulse and she was still breathing, but somehow she still wasn't in there.

"Callie!" Artemisia shook her shoulders, trying to get a response, but Callie continued to stare straight on ahead.

By then, Hoggle was by her side, looking down on Callie's petrified form. There seemed to be a sort of recognition in his eyes.

"What's wrong with her?" Artemisia asked desperately.

Hoggle shook his head slowly. "I've seen this kinda thing before," he said softly. "In fact, it still happens to me sometimes, especially the dreams."

"What are you talking about?" Artemisia demanded.

"We saw a lot of this kinda thing after the war," he explained, "Soldiers would come back and it was like the war had come back with them. They couldn't escape it. They would see visions of it, have dreams about it. They would hear a loud noise and imagine it was gun shots. They even had a name for it: shell shock."

"Shell shock?"

Hoggle nodded. "It happens to people who go through something so terrible, that it continues to haunt them afterward. And even after the danger has long passed, they still feel like it's always present."

At that they heard a loud, gasping from Callie, like she had been underwater and come to the surface. She sat up suddenly looking around, eyes wide and bewildered. Then she fixed her gaze on Artemisia.

"How did I get here?" She asked.

"I carried you here," Artemisia answered.

Callie swallowed hard, shaking her head. "But I was there," she said.

Artemisia knitted her brow. "You were where?" She asked.

Callie didn't answer, but Artemisia could see in her eyes where she'd been, that same haunted expression bleeding the color out of her face.

"Hoggle," Artemisia said softly, "Can you give us a moment?"

Hoggle nodded and left the room, closing the door softly. Artemisia reached out to touch Callie's face, but she flinched away from her hand as if she had struck her. Artemisia pulled her hand back.

"Where did you think you were, Callie?" She asked, staring intently into her eyes.

Callie hesitated to answer, lowering her gaze and swallowing hard. Artemisia could see a slight tremor running through her hands.

"I was _there,"_ she finally said, "With him. And he…" Artemisia could hear her fighting to keep the tears out of her voice. "It happened again, and I couldn't stop it. Somehow, he's found me."

Artemis reached out and touched her hand, and this time Callie didn't flinch from her.

"No," she said, "He hasn't found you. You're going through something that a lot of people go through after experiencing something like you did."

Callie stared at her blankly.

"Hoggle said the same thing happens to soldiers who have gone to war," she continued, "Your body has left the danger behind but your mind is still there."

Callie looked away, but Artemisia could see the relief cross over her face. Relief, but also despair.

"But it was so real," she whispered, "It _felt_ real. And I was still there, and he…"

Artemisia squeezed her hand before she could complete the painful utterance.

"Callie," she whispered, "Tell me what to do. Tell me how I can help you. I feel so useless. There has to be something I can do."

Callie nodded, but still didn't look up.

"You will teach me how to hunt?" She asked.

"Yes, of course," Artemisia replied earnestly.

Callie crawled into Artemisia's lap and wrapped her arms around her, laying her head against her chest.

"Then please just hold me for now," she said.

* * *

Another day had passed before his men brought him anything substantial in regard to his bride's whereabouts. It was late in the evening when the guardsman knocked on the door of his study.

"Come in," he grumbled in irritation, gripping his head in hands as he waited for Ellowyn to bring him his nightcap.

Three days. She had been gone for three days and they still had nothing to show for it. He was actually beginning to worry that she was dead and his heir along with her. The Champion's daughter, the only trump card he had to play, gone after one night of carelessness

"Good evening, Your Majesty," the guardsman greeted upon opening the door, "A few of the bounty hunters have returned from the forest with a possible clue as to Lady Calliope's whereabouts."

The King sprang up from his seat. Finally. Finally they had _something_ to go off of.

"What is it?" He demanded, "Show it to me."

The guardsman pulled out a mask, one that the King immediately recognized as the one he had worn when he surprised Sarah and Hoggle in the tunnels so many years ago.

"This was found over by the eastern gate of the forest," the guardsman told him, "Maybe it's nothing, but it looks like it might have been left there very recently."

The King could have almost laughed as he examined the mask. It was definitely his. What a clever girl. He really had underestimated her.

"You say you found it by the eastern gate," He said, "Wasn't the gown found on the western end of the city?"

"It was, sire," the guardsman replied, "which is why we can't be sure if this will be of any use to you. We just wanted to call your attention to it just in case."

"Thank you," the King said, "This may indeed be of some use."

The guard bowed before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

The King sat back down at his desk, still examining the mask. He thought it unlikely that Callie would be able to dispose of her dress on one side of the city, then make it over to the complete opposite end without getting caught. Even in a disguise, she would have been noticed. Any goblin out at that hour would have been breaking curfew and the guards would have apprehended them immediately. So how did his mask make it all the way to the eastern gate?

As if in answer to his question, another knock came at the door, and the King stowed the mask away under the desk as Ellowyn appeared at the threshold, carrying a tray with a decanter and glass.

"Your evening nightcap, as requested, Your Majesty," she said with a curtsey.

"Thank you, Ellowyn," he said, "Just put it here on the desk."

She came over, and set the tray down, moving the glass and decanter to the desk. Her hair slipped in front of her face for a moment and that's when he noticed it.

"Ellowyn," he said, his eyes looking over her slender build, her winter complexion, her dark hair, "You have to travel quite a distance to get here each night. Which district do you live in again?"

"The Red Stone district, Your Majesty," she replied with a smile, holding the empty try to her chest.

"That's on the western end of the city, isn't it?" He asked.

"Yes, sire," she said, "The far side of the western end."

"Such a pity you have to travel so far," he said, pouring himself a glass from the decanter.

Ellowyn shrugged. "It's alright, Your Majesty," she said, "I don't really mind it. I quite enjoy the walk."

He smiled, taking a sip from his glass. "Well, I do hope you know how much your diligence is appreciated," he told her, "I will have to think of some way to repay you for it one day."

Ellowyn dipped a curtsey, taking a step towards the door. "It's no trouble at all, Your Majesty," she said, "Have a good evening."

 **A/N: I apologize for taking so long to update. I have been working on the rewrite for the original story. The first three chapters are up on Fiction Press under the title** ** _Into the Underwood_** **(still under the same pen name). The premise is basically the same, but the characters and the setting are all original, and the plot has been changed up quite a bit. Check it out and let me know what you think if you're interested.**


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